The Nineteenth Year
by hrhrionastar
Summary: All was well. Sort of. The year 2017, from various perspectives. For the Calendar Challenge.
1. The Freedom of Being Frozen

_---------------------------------------------------------_

For the Calender Challenge. 1: January; new; "I'm used to being lonely. It's the only thing I can rely on these days."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**The Nineteenth Year **

**Chapter One: The Freedom of Being Frozen**

----------------------------

"Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories."

~From the movie _An Affair to Remember_

"All my life, I always wanted to be somebody. Now I see that I should have been more specific."

~Jane Wagner

--------------------------------------------------------------------

"Grandromeda!" my grandson yelled from upstairs. "I can't find my new Weasley sweater!"

"Did you try _accio_?" I called back. I was in the kitchen, cleaning and putting away the dishes from breakfast. Sunlight streamed in. I love having big windows. They're good for my Fanged Geraniums (pretty, but with a bite to them), Flitterbroom (I only have the one because pure Flitterbroom is hard to get; it almost always crossbreeds with Devil's Snare, and just a whiff of a spore of the more dangerous plant is enough to contaminate the Flitterbroom seeds), and invisible dusk-blooming chokevines (a personal favorite). There's something reassuring about plants.

My grandson, Teddy, raced down the stairs, tripped over the last few, caught himself on the banister (worn smooth by two generations of clumsy children using it as a prop), and slumped into a chair, scowling. "I did try _accio_," he complained. "It didn't work."

"Well," I said reasonably, "your sweater's probably at Harry's, or Ron and Hermione's, or Bill's, then." Honestly, the poor thing was only getting worked up because he was about to start his last semester at Hogwarts, and he's still not sure what he wants to do, career wise. I try to stay out of it as much as I can.

Teddy looks like me—same Black high, sharp cheekbones, alarmingly pale (sometimes referred to as alabaster) skin, and straight, classic nose—but he has Harry's mouth, warm Weasley brown eyes, an athlete's body (he's been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team since he was thirteen), a teenager's appetite, his father's love of books, his mother's clumsiness, and his own hair. That hair used to really annoy me. Turquoise! I mean, really! The color was bad enough, but then when he decided to grow it out in his fifth year…Let's just say neither he nor I had any previous inkling that my voice could get _that_ shrill.

Not that he looks bad with long hair, of course. It just…threw me a little.

Sometimes I wish he didn't remind me _so damn much_ of Nymphadora…and others I'm more grateful than I can say that he's _so _like her.

"I guess," he said, in a patently unenthused response to my practical suggestion. Absently, he summoned a cereal box (his favorite brand is NEW!4-Dimensional Fruit Loops, Twists, and Knots!) and dug in.

"I don't know how you can eat that stuff," I said, for the 12,534th time.

He rolled his eyes in that way teenagers have that makes one feel like an obsolete idiot. "Whatever, Grandromeda," he said, forgetting to be nervous for a minute.

I let him eat several mouthfuls before I reminded him (unnecessarily, perhaps), "It's nearly time to go. You don't want to be late."

"It doesn't matter. I'm going to Apparate in, I've got at least another six minutes," my grandson said casually.

"You're Head Boy," I reminded him (again, perhaps unnecessarily).

He rolled his eyes frustratedly. "I _know_, Grandromeda," he said forcefully.

I got the hint and backed off. I busied myself with straightening the tablecloth, cleaning the counter (honestly, it's surprising how far a good _Scourgify_ will go), and pushing in the chairs we'd left out from breakfast.

"Stop hovering over me," Teddy complained. "I'll go when I'm ready. I've got plenty of time."

"Four minutes," I told him, in the interests of accuracy.

"Grandromeda?" he asked. I couldn't figure out why his voice had gone all high and nervous.

"Yes?"

"What if…what if you like someone," he said in a rush, "and you're not sure—I mean, maybe they don't—and then, will it seem really, I don't know, indecorous and awkward, if you ask them t—or do you reckon—not that I—I mean, she—"

I took pity on him at that point. "So you like a girl," I said encouragingly, pulling out one of the chairs I'd just pushed in and sitting across from him. "And you don't know if you should tell her, or ask her out, or what?"

"Well," Teddy blushed, "yeah."

"Just for clarity's sake, this young lady is Miss Victoire Weasley, yes?" I asked.

Teddy blushed some more, nodded, and stared at his shoes (untied, again—honestly, he'll trip over some extra-short first year one of these days and break his leg).

"Well," I said carefully, "I think the best thing to do would be to tell her how you feel."

"But what if she—I mean, I'm not sure she—"

"When your grandfather and I first met—well, not actually when we _first_ met—_that _consisted of him insulting my intelligence and me insulting his heritage—" I reminisced. "Anyway, not too long into our friendship, we were working in an obscure corner of the library, and he turned to me and said, "Hey, Andy. I like you—I mean, _really like_ you. Would you go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?"

"And what did you say?" Teddy asked, when I didn't speak for a moment.

I smiled mysteriously. Some things about those days I'd rather keep to myself. They don't reflect well upon my character. "That's another story. But it all worked out in the end—we eloped the day after graduation."

Teddy, thank Godric, refrained from pointing out that "all worked out" was hardly an accurate summary of the past forty-four years since my late husband and I were married.

"So you think I should tell her?" he asked, taking a deep, brave breath.

I nodded.

"Well—I'll think about it," he said, rather lamely.

With an effort, I restrained myself from pursuing the matter further. I looked down at my watch and shrieked. "Look at the time! You have to go!" I leapt out of my chair and began to pace.

With a sigh, Teddy got up, set the cereal flying toward the cupboard, reached up a hand and ruffled his hair, and turned to me.

Automatically, I smoothed down his hair and fixed his collar.

Teddy towers over me—and I've always been tall. It used to make me feel awkward, when I was a girl. Now I've found it comes in handy when I'm babysitting for the Potter-Weasley brood. There are _so many_ of them.

Teddy gave me an awkward hug, and I breathed him in. He smells just as good to me as he did when he was a baby. Like the last real thing in the world.

"I love you, Grandromeda," he said, serious for once.

"And I love you, Teddy," I replied. My eyes felt a little prickly. I straightened my spine and opted for the practical approach. I usually do.

I let him go, patted him bracingly on the back, and said, "Be good. Remember, the younger children look up to you. With great power comes great responsibility."

"Godric, Grandromeda, I'm Head Boy, not Minister for Magic," Teddy said, rolling his eyes again. I hope he doesn't strain his poor eyes, rolling them all the time.

"Now go, before you're any later. I can't believe Neville lets you waltz in whenever you please," I told him sternly. Neville recently got appointed Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts. He's also Head of Gryffindor House.

"Yes, Grandromeda," he sighed, for once not rolling his eyes, picked up his trunk, and Disapparated.

--

Being alone in the house used to scare me—usually because I thought Bellatrix or Ministry Tax representatives might suddenly arrive on my doorstep—but now I find it rather soothing.

I have my plants, after all—and there's something to be said for this house. It's seen a lot of laughter, love, and happiness. I keep thinking maybe some of the excess will rub off on me.

Stranger things have happened.

It's nothing like the house I grew up in, which was huge, cold, and cavernous. My sisters and I, my first cousins, my second and third cousins, my mother's side of the family (whom we hardly ever so much as saw), and my parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and great-aunts could have fit easily in Black Manor. Well, when I say _easily…_I have to admit the tantrums and fights and staring contests and curses might get a little intense.

Black Manor stands empty now—as the second daughter, it went to me when Bellatrix died. I never did anything with it. Too many memories.

I think Narcissa still has the Black Estate (our ancestors weren't exactly creative when it came to naming their property). There's also 12 Grimmauld Place—Harry lives there.

This house, though…this is a home.

Ted and I raised one kid here, and I raised another—not completely on my own, of course; he's always been welcome at Harry's, or Ron and Hermione's, or Bill and Fleur's, or Draco and Astoria's, or Molly and Arthur's, or George and Angelina's, or even Percy and Audrey's. But he's my responsibility more than he is any of theirs.

He's the only reason I've made it this far.

--

Not long after Teddy'd gone, I was watering my plants when there was a knock on the door.

Hoping it wasn't Rita Skeeter ferreting around for interviews concerning my childhood with Bellatrix again, I walked in the front hall and opened it.

I don't know who I was expecting—Harry, maybe, complaining about having to send his son back to school, or Hermione wanting my input on another House-Elf Liberation Act (maybe a Goblin Liberation Act?), or Draco inviting me to spend yet another incredibly difficult evening with him, his wife, who's not that bad, surprisingly, my polite and studious great nephew Scorpius, my great nieces, Altaira and Vulpecula (sweethearts both), Narcissa, and her good-for-nothing husband (Lucius; I really hate that guy)—but it wasn't any of them. It was someone I hadn't seen in years.

"Septima!" I exclaimed, if not exactly cheerfully, at least as friendly as a classmate with whom I hadn't spoken in years had any right to expect.

She looked well; hair short and grey and firmly in place, eyes twinkling, back ramrod straight (there's something about that pureblood aristocracy training you never forget), robes and cloak forest green and neat as a pin—almost as though, in the past forty-odd years, she hadn't really changed.

"Come on in," I said belatedly, and she swept inside, bringing the cold January air with her.

"I was in the neighborhood, and I felt like I hadn't seen you in forever," she said breezily, as I led her back into the kitchen.

"Tea?" I asked reflexively.

"That would be lovely, thanks." She sat, took off her cloak, and stared around avidly. "So this is it, eh? The old family home?"

I was tempted to say that the old family home used to house Dark artifacts and still contains Aunt Walburga's portrait, that it used to be the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and now famous Harry Potter raises his kids there—but I refrained.

I hadn't seen Septima Vector since the flurry of funerals after the Battle of Hogwarts, and Godric knows that was a painful time for me. I doubt I said a single civil word to her—or anyone.

"Yes," I said shortly, in response to her earlier query. Honestly, I don't know why she had to be so nosy about it. This house looks as good—if not better—now as it did the day Ted and I moved in, after we got that loan from his parents. Who still write me, asking how Teddy is and whether I'm doing all right working for Obscurus Books, in Diagon Alley (they call it Obscure Books, Diagonal Alley—which isn't as inaccurate as it sounds).

Septima raised her eyebrows at me. "So…" she said, obviously trying to think of a way to change the subject, while still not asking the canonical 'How've you been?' I waited. Septima may not have a lot of tact, but she's got a good heart. "How's Teddy?" she settled on at last.

"Good; he's just gone back to Hogwarts for the spring term. He's Head Boy, you know," I said, fixing the tea.

Septima laughed. "I know. I'm afraid poor Hestia Wentworth—she's Head Girl, you know; Hufflepuff—just can't keep up. Headmistress Beaumont probably ought not to have paired those two together. Hestia's terrified of everything, and Teddy's—well, you know."

I did know—Teddy is a dear, sweet boy, with a soft heart and keen insight into other people's feelings, but he is quite impatient. Also, he loves to take risks. I tell him, over and over, not to be so reckless, but it doesn't seem to do any good. He's just like his parents.

The tea was ready just then, and I poured and Septima and I had a good chat about Hogwarts and kids these days and politics (she admires Kingsley, but I really think the time has come for him to step down; he's been Minister for Magic for a good eighteen years now, and I think we can all agree he's slipping a bit, if that scandal last fall is anything to judge by), and it was just like old times. It's shocking how well Septima and I get along, considering the fact that I absolutely loathe Arithmancy (the subject she teaches). I never could get the hang of it in school, and I only took it because she persuaded me into it. I thought it would be hard. I was wrong. It was incomprehensible.

"Andromeda?" Septima asked hesitantly, long after we were done with the tea. I hadn't cleared the cups away immediately like I usually do, and they were sitting on the table looking companionable. It's nice, having two teacups together. If I were the artistic type, I'd say they filled out the picture more—played off one another.

I should have realized something was up then—Septima never sounds hesitant. Back when we were at school together, that forthrightness was the first thing that drew me to her—and she was my first friend not expressly picked out and approved by my mother.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to criticize…" Septima went on. I waited, eyebrows raised. "But, well…living here, all alone during the school year…don't you ever get…lonely?"

I blinked, startled for a moment. Then I laughed. I don't know what Septima was expecting—a denial, probably—but I couldn't lie, not then. "I'm used to being lonely," I said thoughtfully. "It's the only thing I can rely on, these days."

Which is true, in a sort of twisted way. Honestly, though—no matter how much I try to deny it—I'm a Black, and Blacks are twisted. I've been lonely for so long, I sort of like it. It's reassuring, like an old cloak you keep wearing even though it hasn't been fashionable in years and it's patched in several places. It's familiar. I'm Andromeda, and I'm a lonely old lady who lives in a lion's den…well, if you make Teddy the lion, anyway.

Septima was looking at me shrewdly. "You know, Andromeda," she told me, "you really need to get out more."

I shrugged. I really couldn't care less about the outside world. It's never done anything for me.

"I know!" Septima exclaimed. "How would you like a blind date? I know this wizard who would be perfect for you! He's smart, and funny—he plays guitar, and he's really very good—Kirley's such a sweet man, and just what you need!"

I frowned. The name sounded familiar, but the last thing I wanted was a blind date.

"Are you crazy, Septima?" I protested, half-laughing in horror. "I do _not_ want to start dating again!"

She pouted. "Why not? You're an attractive, single witch in her early sixties. Your grandson is already seventeen and of age, you have a pretty laid-back job and a gorgeous house…what's to stop you?"

"Everything," I moaned, slumping in my chair and leaning my head in my hands. I ignored my mother's voice in the back of my thoughts, saying, _pureblood ladies do NOT slouch, Andromeda._

"Why?" Septima asked again. She seemed genuinely not to understand.

"I'm just…not ready," I said lamely. Godric, but I felt like an idiot. I'm turning sixty-three this year, Ted's been gone since…for almost eighteen years. That's how long Teddy's been alive. And I still can't imagine sharing my life, my_self_ with anyone else. Ted was my one and only.

Septima looked unconvinced. "It's not betraying Ted to start seeing someone else," she told me gently. Honestly, I don't even know how she can talk—she's never been married. According to her, it's hopelessly difficult to get into the dating scene when you're a Hogwarts professor. About your only options are the other professors, and relationships there are, at best, one-sided (like poor Auriga Sinistra's infatuation with Snape, back when he was teaching. Nymphadora always claimed Snape only tolerated her because he was plotting revenge on Dumbledore, Hogwarts, the world as we know it, Remus Lupin, rainbows, sunlight, and pure driven snow, and he thought she might prove useful as an unwitting pawn in his evil schemes. Nymphadora always had a lively imagination). Anyway, Septima almost got married right after we graduated, but Amos Diggory dumped her and left for Greece the next week—pompous bastard.

"Why bother?" I asked. "It's never going to work out."

"Sure it will—Kirley's a great guy. Or if not him, someone else. There's more than one person out there for you, Andromeda."

I rolled my eyes, reminding myself irresistibly of Teddy. "Fine," I growled, giving up resistance as a bad job. "I'll think about it. Happy?"

Septima grinned unrepentantly at me. "Of course."

--

She left not that long after that—something about preparing for classes the next day—and I had leisure to think about what I'd just let myself in for.

I hate dating. I don't even know this "Curly" person. And what kind of a name is that, anyway?

How is it, I asked myself, that friends, even after you haven't seen them in years and your lives are completely different, can still make you forget about your own priorities and opinions and drag you into making promises you never would have considered without their cheerful manipulation?

Still, I realized later that day, once I'd reminded myself that I hadn't actually promised to date the guy, just to think about it—I wouldn't have Septima any other way.

If only she weren't one of the few friends I have who actually survived the war.

Not to be morbid, or anything—there's always Harry, and the Weasleys, and Neville (such a sweet boy), and my own dear sister Narcissa, and her arrogant, difficult family—it's only Lucius I resent. Everything would be so much simpler if they'd thrown him in Azkaban and forgotten the unlocking spell—still, Cissy claims to love him. Incomprehensible, I call it.

Well—at least I still have my plants.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Kirley' is Kirley McCormack (stage name, Kirley Duke), lead guitarist for the Weird Sisters. Andromeda doesn't know this.


	2. Affectueusement, Victoire

For the Calendar Challenge. 2: February—heart; "I don't want to be your whole life—just your favorite part."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

**The Nineteenth Year**

**Chapter Two: Affectueusement, Victoire**

---------------------------------------**  
**

"Fortune favors the brave."

"You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve? You just put your lips together and…blow." –Lauren Bacall in To Have and Have Not

----------------------------------------------------

Ciao. My name is Victoire Isabelle Weasley, and I have a huge crush. Like, an oh-my-Godric-he-just-_looked_-at-me type of crush. Maybe even (though don't spread this around) a maybe-someday-bonded-for-life-loving-marriage type crush.

Ciao is such an excellent word, by the way. You can use it for hello or goodbye. And it's part of so many languages: Spanish, Italian, French…I'm half-French, so I use Ciao in order to let people know I'm multicultural and cosmopolitan.

French really is a beautiful language. My mother taught it to me and my sister and brother, and I admit I rather like listening to it. Speaking it, on the other hand...well, it's true my accent is quite good, but my grammar's awful.

Quite disgraceful, considering that French is my native tongue—technically true, since my first word was 'imbécile' meaning idiot, in English. Meaning my father, when my mother said it.

It's lucky she got out of the habit of calling him an imbécile before Dominique was born_. Her_ first word, interestingly, was 'victoire.' My name, yes, but also French for victory.

I have no idea why my père et mère actually named me Victory.

Well—I do, but just because my birthday is a year after the end of their precious civil war…Sometimes it makes me so mad, because not only my birthday, but my name, is like this living memorial. And when I think of what happened to Uncle Fred and Teddy's parents, I can't stand it.

At the same time, I'm conscious of the honor.

Anyway, let's return to the object of my crush. I would love to describe him in loving detail, but it might take me years to come up with a satisfactory word-picture of him, so I'll settle for the basics:

His name is Teddy Lupin, he's turning eighteen on April 23, he's Head Boy, he loves Transfiguration, his hair is blue-green on a regular basis, he's smart and brave, he likes that new four-dimensional breakfast cereal, he gets really, really cranky whenever there's a full moon and refuses to do any homework for about a week, but the teachers all love him anyway, and he is the only person I know who manages to be simultaneously truly kind and patient, while giving off this great sarcastic, dangerously sexy vibe.

Really, it's not surprising I'm in love with him.

So, next step: tell him? Seduce him? Go around pretending like I don't even care when Hestia Wentworth laughs too loud at his jokes and rubs herself against his chest? Honestly, if she weren't so nice, I'd say she was a slut. She's not too bright, either. Blonde, of course.

In spite of everything my cousin Roxane has ever told me about the harmful psychological nature of stereotypes, or what my cousin Rose has told me about the statistical ludicrousness of every stereotype I've ever heard of (and some I haven't), I really have found that hair one useful.

You know: blondes have more fun, redheads are fierce and quick to lose their fragile grasp on their tempers, and brunettes are smart and serious.

Hestia Wentworth is a blonde. Lily Luna Potter (my cousin) is a redhead—and, even though she doesn't often actually do it, she always seems like she's about to explode like a volcano, or burst into flames. Albus Severus (another cousin) has black hair, and he takes life really seriously. If it weren't for his sibs, he would have absolutely no idea how to have fun.

There are exceptions to the rule: look at James Sirius—dark hair, yes, but a troublemaker if there ever was one—and Fred (cousin, not uncle), who's got red hair, hardly ever smiles, and is _so_ going to get prefect next year.

I'm a little worried about Fred, actually; especially after that conversation we had just before the Gryff/Slyth Quidditch match last week.

"Hey, petit cousin," I said, after breakfast. "Bonne chance!"

"Thanks, Vic," he said, smiling wanly.

I wanted to reprimand him for the use of that horrid nickname—honestly, I don't much like the name Victoire, but I absolutely _hate _being called Vic—but he looked so woebegone that I refrained.

"What's the matter?" I asked, concerned.

He glanced around, as though worried a Slytherin or a random first-year or a teacher would leap out from behind a corner and torture him.

"I just…" he began, then gulped. "Mom and Dad are coming to watch the game. What if I disappoint them?"

"You won't," I said at once. "Fred, you're brilliant. You're the best Chaser since….since Joscelind Wadcock, or Flann Troy or—or your mother!"

"Thanks," he said, smiling with an effort.

"No, really, I mean it—you guys are going to win," I started, because he still looked unreassured. Currently, the Gryffindor Quidditch team consists of Teddy Lupin (Captain, Chaser), Fred Weasley (Chaser), James Potter (Seeker), Dominique Weasley (Keeper), Louis Weasley (Chaser), Molly Weasley (Beater), and Cynthia Cartwright (Beater). Needless to say, it's rather a heavily Weasley enterprise—my sister, my brother, my crush (who's also my almost-cousin), my cousin Fred, my cousin James, my cousin Molly, and blonde, sassy Cyn Cartwright (who isn't related to me—as far as I know).

But, of course, that's not the point. The point isn't even that Uncle George and Aunt Angel both used to be amazing Quidditch players who definitely know their way around a Quaffle. The point is, as always, that while his parents are here, Fred may slip and show them how responsible he is. He may forget to trade off-color jokes with James and flirt with every girl in sight. He may not be funny enough, he may not be saucy and disobedient and adorable enough, and they may remember that, actually, he isn't Uncle Fred. Or Uncle George. And certainly not both of them at once.

Personally, I'm not convinced that would be such a bad thing. But Fred really loves his parents, and the last thing he wants to do is disappoint them. Never mind that they're both crazy: Uncle Fred is gone, and our Fred is his own person. I'm not even sure he'd play Quidditch if it weren't for their expectations.

"Look, Fred," I said gently, putting my hands on his shoulders. He's just over my height, now, and I expect, in a few years, he'll tower over me. "It's okay to be yourself around your parents."

He laughed hollowly. "I appreciate it, Vic," he said, "but you don't understand."

The trouble is, I do. And I can't seem to figure out what to do about it.

"I love you," I told him. He relaxed a bit. Just a bit, though. "It's going to be fine. And," I added, in an effort to lighten the mood, "don't call me Vic."

He laughed, and that was that.

Well, not completely, I suppose. I was at the match, cheering on my extended family (oh, all right—I was there cheering Teddy on, because he's just that amazing), and I saw us win, and Uncle George and Aunt Angel cheer, for once not looking solemn, and Roxane even came, though she hates organized sports, and Teddy had to break up a fight between Dominique and the Slyth seeker…Uncle Harry looked especially proud when James caught the Snitch, and Aunt Ginny actually smiled…Maman blew Dominique kisses throughout the entire game, and screamed when Louis scored…we were so loud you'd think the entire audience was made up of Weasleys—in short, a typical family occasion.

That was last week, and I'm still a bit worried about Fred, though he's gone back to his customary responsible, good student ways now that Uncle George and Aunt Angel are gone.

Today, though—today is Valentine's Day. Tuesday, February 14, 2017.

Breakfast included pink hearts falling from the ceiling (one had to be careful in order to avoid soggy pink paper in one's pumpkin juice type accidents), and Professor Beaumont wishing everyone a lovely day.

Then I had actual class (Potions with Professor Savernake, the new one, followed by History of Magic, now finally taught by someone who isn't a ghost—Professor Grant), followed by a free period, in which I did my Charms homework, and so on and so forth until classes were finally over for the day and I had time to find Teddy and give him my Valentine.

Roxane cornered me in the common room. "Vic—" she started, then took in my expression and added "toire, I was wondering if you'd sign my petition."

"What petition?" I probably should've asked _which_ petition—Roxy is very interested in charitable causes—but I wasn't thinking. Or rather I _was _thinking, just not about Roxy and her plan to fix the world.

"The Inter-House Exchange Program Petition," she told me. You see, Roxy's got this theory: she thinks the system of Sorting students into four different Houses based on one predominant character trait (brave, smart, loyal, ambitious) is ridiculous and unfair. The Inter-House Exchange Program is this idea she came up with that involves sending next year's Gryffs to Slytherin, Slyths to Hufflepuff, Puffs to Ravenclaw, and Claws to Gryffindor for their first year. In order to promote inter-House unity and stop people from thinking that all Slyths are evil, Puffs are stupid, and Claws are pompous nerds.

Personally, I think there are some things no one, not even Roxy, can change, and I've already mentioned how I find stereotypes helpful sometimes, but I saw no harm in signing the petition, which I did with a flourish. "There you are."

"Thanks, Victoire," Roxy said. "You're my favorite cousin."

I grinned in spite of myself. "Really?" I asked.

"Of course." Roxy looked surprised that I could doubt my superiority. "You're like, the nicest person I know. And you always have time for me."

I didn't mention that I was sort of in a hurry to find Teddy and that I really didn't have time at the moment, because Roxy was smiling at me and I knew she meant it. I'm her favorite cousin. How about that?

Roxy gave me another grin, and wandered off to find more people willing to sign her petition.

I scanned the room for Teddy's vibrant blue hair. It's very distinctive. Most people don't dare dye their hair blue. Of course, Teddy is not most people. Nor does he dye his hair—he just prefers it that way. He's a Metamorphagus, in case I didn't mention that already.

Which brings us back to the hair stereotype. Blondes, redheads, brunettes…well, Teddy and I don't quite fit the bill. I suspect his hair is naturally brown or black, but I really don't know, since most of the time it's this gorgeous blue-green, and occasionally it'll turn red when he's angry, orange when he's excited, etc.

My hair is pink. Yes, actually pink. Not bright magenta, which would be obvious and clearly a Statement, or orangey-pink that's really orange, or even so pale it might as well be blonde, although that's the closest. No, my hair is cotton-candy, baby-girl pink. You wouldn't think blonde and red would actually make pink, would you? Yet there you have my redheaded dad, and my maman, whose hair is actually silver, but who's called blonde for want of a better word.

My pink hair is a real blemish, in my opinion. I look so weird! No one else has hair that is naturally that color. It's not as though I were making a Statement, either, or even doing it because I feel like it, like Teddy. I don't have any choice.

My parents would flip if I dyed it, too.

Anyway, I couldn't find Teddy in the common room, so I commenced a comprehensive search. Kitchens, library, war memorial, owlery, Entrance Hall, that spot near Barnabus the Barmy everyone always goes to snog (bit of a relief, not finding him there)…and finally, I thought to check the grounds.

By then it was nearly dinner, but I didn't care.

I found him sitting with his back against a tree not far from the lake. There was snow on the ground, but he'd used a Warming Charm to create a little oasis of heat around him, and the snow had melted and evaporated where he sat. He was reading a slim little book with a French title: "Hélas, Je me suis Transfiguré mes Pieds," meaning, "Alas, I have Transfigured my Feet" by Malecrit, a French wizard famed for being an eccentric.

The late afternoon sun glanced across Teddy's hair, bringing out his green highlights. He was sprawled on the ground in that sullen, sexy way some guys have. I couldn't see his eyes, because he wasn't looking at me, but I could see that he was looking pensive. Or thoughtful, anyway. His robes were rumpled, and probably mud-stained. I thought he looked adorable.

Then he laughed, and I couldn't _not _make my presence clear. Good Godric! Teddy hardly ever laughs that unselfconsciously. I mean, really!

"Hi, Teddy!" I said. Original, right? I sat down next to him, feeling my shoulders tense. A shiver went through me (part nerves, part residual cold from the February air outside Teddy's Warming Charm). There was a lump in my throat, and my knees felt shaky.

But I'm a Gryff, and I was determined.

He blinked at me. "Hi, Vic," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you—?" I said exasperatedly, and he laughed, and suddenly the constraint was gone.

I decided to be up front about the whole thing. "Teddy," I said, "I like you. I mean, _really like_ you. Want to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?"

He looked at me like he couldn't believe what he was hearing, but I couldn't tell if it was a joyful disbelief, or the kind where he was thinking I was some crazy stalker fan girl. Teddy has fan girls, you know—and you can see why.

"Here," I said, blushing. I gave him my Valentine.

He took it, still staring at me, and opened it. It said, in my voice (and wasn't that a tricky piece of charmwork), "'A hundred hearts would be too few/ To carry all my love for you.' Will you be my Valentine, Teddy Remus Lupin? Love, your secret—or not so secret—admirer."

He blushed, stammered something I didn't catch, and then he looked at me, really looked at me, and time seemed to stop. I don't know how long we stayed like that—I forgot to be self-conscious.

Still, it was probably only a few seconds, because then Teddy was like, "Salazar take it!" which is a Slytherin curse—and he leaned over and kissed me.

I don't quite know how to describe it. I've been kissed before (I'm sixteen, after all), but it's never been like this.

It was as though I could taste him—and not just what he actually tasted like—cool winter sun, hunger, and, oddly, violets—but the essence of him—what he was feeling, maybe—his joy, frustration, a hint of embarrassment—it fits this theory I've got, which is that, when two magical people kiss, or even just look at each other, they share thoughts—like Occlumency in reverse, I suppose—and, to make a long story short, it was wonderful.

When we finally pulled apart, I wasn't feeling cold at all anymore.

"Wow," he said, echoing my thoughts. "Vic, I—the truth is, I—well, I would love to be your Valentine. You're what I think about, all the time. You're my whole life."

Now, I really rather doubted that, considering that Teddy is in his seventh year, so, realistically, his N.E.W.T.s are his whole life, but I appreciated the thought.

I leaned in closer, almost climbing into his lap. "I don't want to be your whole life," I whispered, my breath warm against his cool cheek. "Just your favorite part."

He laughed, and we got rather distracted again.

Eventually, we remembered about dinner and schoolwork and other of life's petty details, and we stopped kissing and talked (still not going in to eat, or work, or anything, though).

"Teddy," I asked, stroking that gorgeous hair of his. "What were you laughing about, just before we said hello?"

"The play—it's really quite good," Teddy explained. "The lead character Transfigures his feet, and then he has to walk around like that, doing his job, before he can find someone to fix it. And everyone laughs at him for being such an outcast weirdo, and then this girl untransfigures him, because she's the only nice person ever, and she sees through his façade—and people still treat him like a pariah, so he and the girl finally have to show his boss having Transfigured feet doesn't make you weird, and so they Transfigure the boss's feet, and everyone laughs at him—I don't know. It's funny. You can't help feeling sorry for the main character, too."

"Sounds like a marvelous social commentary. Roxane would love it," I murmured, kissing his jaw gently. "Got any other interesting things to tell me?"

"Only that you're beautiful," he whispered back, fingers tangling in my hair. "I love this hair," he told me softly. "Pink. It's really gorgeous, Vic."

I pulled back slightly. "Are you making fun of me?" I asked, harsher than I'd intended. I'm very sensitive about my hair.

He blinked. "No," he said, obviously befuddled. "Why would I be making fun of you? I mean it, I think your hair is great. Unique—just like mine. It's another way we fit together."

I relaxed a bit. "That's true," I admitted. Up close, I noticed (not for the first time, mind you, but still) that his eyes were the exact same shape and color as my own. I've always thought my dark brown eyes were kind of blah—nothing like Albus's bright green or Lily's dreamy blue ones—but on him they looked warm, kind, and passionate. It made me think maybe I was a little judgmental when it came to my own appearance.

It also made me think I wanted to kiss his eyelids, and that took up several more minutes.

Finally, it was late enough that the sun had set, and, in spite of the Warming Charm, the air was a little chilly. I suggested we go up to dinner, but Teddy pointed out that it was long since over.

Momentarily dismayed, I quickly rallied, and we made our way back to the castle and down to the kitchens.

The house-elves are so kind to students in need of sustenance. We had an excellent meal. The whole time, I couldn't keep my eyes off Teddy. I'm so grateful that I finally got up the courage to tell him how I feel—and that he feels the same way.

Today has been such a gift. I guess I should thank St. Valentine.

Teddy and I plan to eat breakfast together tomorrow. We're also going to do lots of handholding and soulful glances in public, because, when you've got a good thing going for you, it never hurts to let everyone know. Plus, it'll be fun.

I can't wait.

Ciao.


	3. Malfoys Aren't Afraid of Anything

------------------------------------------------

For the Calender Challenge. 3: March—spring; "I didn't say it was your fault."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**The Nineteenth Year:**

**Chapter Three: Malfoys Aren't Afraid of Anything**

-------------------------------------------------------------------**  
**

"There's nothing more freeing than the shackles of love." –Emma Racine deFleur

"No matter what a man's past may have been, his future is spotless."

–John R. Rice

"Bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid." –William Shakespeare

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm worried about Scorpius."

Not the words a bloke wants to hear when his wife is in his lap, and the two of them are snogging. I protested.

She sat up straight, hands on her hips, and glared down at me. I sighed and capitulated.

"Why are you worried about Scorpius?"

Tori braced herself on the sides of the armchair, dark brown curls falling forward over her face adorably.

"I want to discuss this. Seriously."

"Go on."

"He's really nervous about going to school in the fall," Tori explained.

"Already?" I protested.

"He's very precocious," she said huffily. "He's worried we'll disown him and he'll have to beg in the streets because there'll be no money for school and he won't have any place to stay and he won't make any friends because they'll all judge him by his surname and everything will be dreadful, if he's not in Slytherin."

I blinked. "We won't disown him," I protested. "And he'll never have to beg in the streets for money—he's a_ Malfoy_. As for not making friends—Hermogenes Bulstrode and Vincent Goyle are in his year, aren't they? Some people may judge him based on his surname, but they're not worth bothering about."

"Don't tell me, tell him," Tori said, rolling her eyes. She's adorable when she does that. She's got the most gorgeous grey-green eyes, with the longest lashes I've ever seen…

"Pay attention," Tori said, blushing. "If your father hadn't told him all those ridiculous stories about the Knights of Walpurgis…"

I frowned, feeling myself get angry. "I couldn't just refuse to let my father try and mold my son into a proper Malfoy—the shock would've killed him! And it's not as though the Knights of Walpurgis are particularly active anymore. Scorpius knows better than to believe those stories."

Tori started to answer back hotly, then sighed and leaned against my shoulder. "Oh, Drake, I didn't say it was your fault. I didn't mean to blame you."

"I know my father is difficult," I acknowledged, rubbing a small circle on Tori's shoulder with my thumb. "But Scorpius can manage him far better than I've ever been able to. He's got him wrapped around his little finger."

"Exactly," Tori agreed. "That's why Scorpius is so worried about disappointing him."

I frowned, thinking. "Why didn't we ever have this problem with Altaira? Still too soon for Vulpecula, I suppose." Altaira and Vulpecula are my daughters. V is two years younger than Scorpius, and Tairi's in her fourth year at Hogwarts.

"Tairi never looked up to Lucius the way Scorpius does," Tori explained. "The girls figure they've already disappointed him, just by not being more grandsons."

I shifted uncomfortably. I've had to come to terms with my father's racism (and my own), but his sexism is something I usually ignore. I'm an only child, my mother's never seemed to mind my father's prejudices, and Tori is remarkably adept at social situations. Plus, I think my father won her heart (against her will) when he was ready to curse her entire family for disowning her for marrying me. I haven't spoken to my sister-in-law, Daphne, since the last day of seventh year. What a hypocrite. One minute they're all behind the Dark Lord 100%, the next it's '_don't marry a pureblood, much less a __Malfoy__, or you'll ruin our image and we'll all be ostracized and taxed to starvation._' So they just ignore us. Poor Tori. Her family is awful.

"Maybe I should talk to Tairi," I suggested. After all, Tairi's very opinionated. The last thing I need is for her to answer back to my father some night at dinner, tell him Muggle culture is superior to generations of Malfoys, and give him a heart attack.

"Sure," Tori sighed, reaching up and stroking my jaw. "But it's Scorp who needs your help."

--

After that, I could hardly fail to go and reassure my son. Tori can always guilt-trip me into doing anything. After all, even if it was my father who convinced Scorp he has to be in Slytherin, I'm the one who encourages my parents to spend time with my kids. It helps my mother feel like she's got a purpose in life, and my father views his access to Scorpius, at least, as his right.

Plus, they do actually live in the Manor—just a separate wing. One of these days Father is going to give in to the inevitable and hire a house-elf. Ever since Granger (Weasley, actually, but I can't call her that, there are simply too many of them) wrote and passed the House-Elf Liberation Act a couple of years ago, my parents have been resisting getting a house-elf. Father claims it's on principle, but I reckon he doesn't want to spend the money (ridiculous, given how much we've got). Mother is quite adept at household spells, though, so for now they squeak by.

Tori cooks for everyone. She's amazing that way.

My son has several rooms to himself (I love how much more space there is since Tori and I did all that renovating and relegating the older portraits and heirlooms to the attic) and he's decorated them with posters of his and his mother's favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons. I prefer the Montrose Magpies, myself. There's also a family portrait Tori painted a few years ago. All seven of us, smiling and waving (how she got herself in there—she's a brilliant artist)—except Father is scowling, of course, Scorpius perched on his knee. Tairi's about to go off to Hogwarts, so she's thrilled, my mother's arm around her shoulder. I'm holding V, and Tori is grinning from behind Tairi.

Scorp's window looks out on the Quidditch pitch. I made the goalposts myself. A lot of work, but it was worth it.

My eleven-year-old son lay sprawled across his bed, pretending to read a Calculus book.

Calculus isn't required at Hogwarts, but anyone who's going into investing knows it's crucial. Most wizards don't bother with math; Arithmancy is the closest we've got, but it's really a mix of Divination and ancient culture and history. Math is the one 'Muggle' thing my father ever taught me. It improved my spell-casting enormously. He's very good at it; the amount of money he's finagled out of the Ministry, his peers, and the unsuspecting populace (all perfectly legal) is truly astounding.

"Hey, Scorp," I said, sitting down on the edge of his embroidered bedspread. My mother made it—it depicts gold and silver scorpions and crowns.

"Hey, Dad," he said, not looking up from the book.

"Your mother tells me…" I tried. "Your grandfather can get a little carried away sometimes…"

Finally, he looked at me. His eyes are grey, like mine, but somehow they seem all wide and innocent. "Dad," he said, "I'm okay. You don't have to worry about me."

"But I do," I protested. After all, that's what parents are _for_.

"Really," Scorp insisted. "I'm okay."

"Listen, son," I said, trying to detect any signs that he was feeling insecure. Scorp is a rather reserved kid, unlike V, who talks as fast as a Firebolt, and you can't always tell what he's thinking. "I want you to know that it doesn't matter to your mother and I what House you get into. I won't lie and pretend it's a matter of indifference to your grandfather, but if you're not in Slytherin, he'll get over it."

"Even if I'm in Gryffindor?" Scorpius asked, staring searchingly at me.

I thought about it. I really doubt Scorp is going to be in Gryffindor—he's just a lot subtler than most Gryffindors I've known—but I have to admit it's a possibility. You never know what the Sorting Hat is going to give you. Besides, Scorp is definitely brave. Not to the point of being an idiot about it, but perhaps that's due to Tori's and my training.

As for Father—I don't quite know what he'd do if his only grandson were in Gryffindor, but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be anything irreversible. He's learned something from the war, I know that much.

"Yes," I said decisively. "Even if you're in Gryffindor. He wants you to be in Slytherin, but, no matter what happens, he'll get over it and he'll end up being really proud of you wherever you're Sorted."

Scorp grinned. "Even Hufflepuff?"

"Even Hufflepuff," I repeated solemnly. Although, honestly—Gryffindor may be a possibility, I can't deny that—but _Hufflepuff?_ Not my son. Nothing against those perpetual do-gooders of course—but come on.

"Are we done with that?" Scorp asked. "Because I just don't get L'Hôspital's Rule."

"Oh, well, you see, g(x) and g'(x) can never be zero…" I began, relieved. I peered over his shoulder and squinted at the textbook. Ah, numbers. There's something reassuring about how logical they are.

It was only after an exhaustive explanation, a break involving apples, pumpkin juice, and Chocolate Frogs, and several examples, that I began to suspect Scorp was only pretending not to understand L'Hôspital's Rule in order to get away from an awkward subject. By then, we were immersed in math-speak.

"Honey?" Tori said, a bit later, poking her head in. "I invited Andromeda over for dinner again. She's probably lonely, what with Teddy at school and all."

"Okay," I said absentmindedly, and she turned to go. Then I realized what she'd just said and jumped. "What? You told Father, right? So he can pretend to be busy with the Knights or something?"

Tori grinned from Scorp's doorway. "Not this time. He needs to get over it. Andromeda's visits are very important to your mother, and I'm sure it does the children good to have another relative who's actually around."

"Aunt Andromeda is cool," commented Scorpius.

"Tori," I complained, "Father is not going to like this."

"So? Don't tell me you're still in his shadow," Tori retorted. "I thought you got over that when we had V—if she'd been a boy, generations of tradition would've been upended like that." And she snapped her fingers.

I couldn't argue with that—Malfoys only ever have one son, it's tradition—originally I think it was a curse someone put on the line, but since then it's gotten to be one of those facts-of-life things, like how Blacks rarely make it past fifty and are all stunningly beautiful, or Weasleys have no money and oodles of sons (now broken—that is, they still have hardly any money and plenty of sons, but there're daughters as well), or Potters are self-sacrificing do-gooders with hero-complexes (still in place as far as I know). And yes, if V'd been a boy my father would've flipped, just because of this stupid tradition.

"Would you rather I rescinded the invitation?" Tori asked, a smile playing around her beautiful lips.

I sighed. "Fine," I said, "but don't blame me if she and Father get into a duel and burn the house down."

--

"Grandromeda!" shrieked V, running down two flights of majestic marble stairs and leaping the last eleven steps (I was worried, but it turned out to be more underage magic—she landed perfectly safely). She threw her arms around Aunt Andromeda (who she calls Grandromeda because Teddy does), and shrieked some more, as though she hadn't seen Gr—Aunt Andromeda in years.

"Hello, dear," said Aunt Andromeda bemusedly.

Father appeared at the head of the staircase. "Andromeda," he sneered.

"Lucius," she spat.

_Oh, great_, I mouthed to Tori, _another one of __those__ evenings_.

V talked nonstop for the first half of dinner, all about her studies (she's still doing Algebra, and Tori and I think she's almost ready for Geometry) and the book of fairytales my mother is reading with her (Father banned "The Fountain of Fair Fortune" when I was growing up, but Mother will do anything for her grandchildren). Aunt Andromeda listened, Mother smiled, and Scorp put in a comment or two. Father glared.

At length, V's volubility ran out, and there was a sudden lull in the conversation.

"So," Tori said would-be-casually, "how are you, Andromeda? Meet anyone interesting lately?"

Ah, the feminine tendency to reduce everything to relationships.

"Well," Aunt Andromeda said, blushing. Yes, that's right: Aunt Andromeda blushed. I couldn't believe my eyes!

"For Salazar's sake!" shrieked Mother, grasping Aunt Andromeda's arm. "Tell me everything!"

"Well, his name's Kirley and he's lead guitarist for the Weird Sisters," Aunt Andromeda said, still blushing. "We only just started doing—whatever it is we're doing. I don't know if—I mean, it's no big deal."

"No big deal?" gasped my mother. "You never date! This is so exciting! When can we meet him?"

Aunt Andromeda rolled her eyes. "Good Godric, Cissy, I'm not fourteen with my first boyfriend, you know."

"Do I understand that this...._wizard_…is actually a…serious…interest?" drawled Father. You could almost hear him bite back the question of Kirley's blood status. I winced.

Mother closed her eyes for a moment. Aunt Andromeda glared at Father.

"That's great news, Andromeda, really," Tori said bravely.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Congratulations."

"Grandromeda's got a boyfriend!" giggled V. "Is he nice?"

"Very," said Aunt Andromeda, lips thinning. I've never told anyone this, but she reminds me of Aunt Bellatrix every time she gets angry. It's scary. Not that Malfoys are afraid of anything, of course. Far from it.

After that, dinner was pretty much a bust. Trust Father to ruin another family occasion. Not that I don't love sarcasm, but everyone knows Aunt Andromeda is fragile. Probably another Black on the brink of mental instability. It runs in the family, I'm sorry to say.

Oh, Aunt Andromeda asked about Tairi, Tori and I asked about Teddy…but our hearts weren't really in it.

Not even Tori's delicious Zillaberry ice cream (homemade) cleared the air completely.

V's eyelids were drooping, and I took her upstairs just as Mother and Aunt Andromeda withdrew to the hall and made a whispered assignation for the following day—presumably to discuss Kirley exhaustively.

Scorp stayed behind to help with the dishes, and, by the time I got back downstairs, Aunt Andromeda was gone, Mother had disappeared, Tori and Scorp were done cleaning up and sat reading Shakespeare together in the north parlor, and Father stood propped against a pillar in the main hall. Anyone else, in his position, would've looked aimless. He just looked sardonic.

"Do you have to do that every time?" I asked him, leaning against the adjacent pillar. Tori says the mansion looks like how she's always imagined the Roman Coliseum.

"Do what?" he drawled.

I snorted. "Don't play the innocent with me, Father."

He glared at me. "That woman is unworthy of us. How your mother can stand all that moralistic, self-righteous, _fashionable_ loneliness—! As for her grandson, he's as reckless as his regrettable parents—and it shows. I only hope his ludicrous ideas of polite and logical behavior don't rub off on Scorpius."

I raised my eyebrows and retorted, "And_ I_ hope_ your_ ideas of polite and logical behavior don't rub off on Scorpius. Really, Father—would it kill you to back off and let Mother gossip with Aunt Andromeda in peace?"

He gave me a cold glance. "Your _Moth_er. Is quite _cap_able. Of bringing _this_. Topic. Up _with_. Me. Her_self_. Son," he said slowly, dramatically over-enunciating each syllable. I swear he learned how to do that from Professor Snape.

I sighed. "Fine. Don't blame me when Aunt Andromeda's new boyfriend challenges you to a duel."

I stomped off before he could get in the last word, which always really annoys him. Father is such a show-off.

I suspect he went outside to feed the peacocks. He really loves them.

--

I thought I'd reassured Scorpius, but that evening when I went to kiss him good night, he blinked up at me with those adorably large grey eyes of his, and asked, "Dad? Are you positive Grandfather won't hate me if I'm not in Slytherin?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation. Father may enjoy torturing Aunt Andromeda, but he's _always_ hated her. He's really not that bad—most of the time. And he loves Scorpius.

"Are you absolutely, one-hundred percent, completely sure?" Scorp asked, voice higher than normal.

"I am absolutely, one-hundred percent, completely sure. Now go to sleep," I told him gently.

He sighed, and nestled under the covers. "Goodnight, Dad."

"Goodnight, Scorpius."

---------------------------------------------

Scorpius's sisters, Altaira and Vulpecula, are my own invention. However, I don't feel they are explicitly NOT-canon. If they still bother you, don't worry: their appearances will likely be minimal.


	4. Making History, One Rabbit at a Time

For the Calendar Challenge: 4: April—rabbits; "Yes, I'm short. Tell me something I don't know."

--------------------------------

**The Nineteenth Year:**

**Chapter Four: Making History, One Rabbit At A Time**

-----------------------------------

"I became a journalist to come as close as possible to the heart of the world." –Henry R. Luce

"A little rudeness and disrespect can elevate a meaningless interaction to a battle of wills and add drama to an otherwise dull day.**" **-Bill Watterson

"Do not follow where the path may lead. Go, instead, where there is no path and leave a trail. " -Ralph Waldo Emerson

_----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
_

"Why is there a rabbit in my kitchen?" I asked, with an admirable degree of restraint. The rabbit looked back at me from the table, blinking innocently and gnawing a carrot.

James was my first suspect—he's such a practical joker. He's turning sixteen this August, and he still loves to cause trouble. Sometimes I really wish he were more mature.

Or it might have been Albus—it's only April, but he's already terrified of going to school this September, and fear can make kids do strange things.

I don't think it was Lily—she's my sweet girl, and she's much too princess-y to bring a rabbit into the house.

I ran down a rapid-fire mental list of my nieces and nephews by age: Victoire, Dominique, Fred, Molly, Louis, Roxane, Rose, Lucy, and Hugo—but concluded it was unlikely to be any of them. Except maybe Dominique—she's rather temperamental. In fact, in my opinion, she's a spoiled brat, but what can you expect from Fleur? It's surprising Vic and Louis have turned out so well.

Nevertheless, surely it had to be one of them. "KIDS!" I yelled. "GET DOWN HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

They came, grumbling. It's Easter holidays, so I have all three of mine, plus Rosie and Hugo and Vic and Fred and Roxy—everyone will be at the Burrow tomorrow, of course, for dinner and games, but today I've got them all to myself. My nieces and nephews tend to make our house their home whenever they please, so it's not surprising that I've got Vic, Fred, Roxy, Rosie and Hugo for the day.

Harry (of course) is at work. It's Saturday, for Godric's sake! I wish I could say they work him too hard, but he's the head of the department, and he does it all to himself. Sometimes he makes me so mad…I have to look out for the kids, of course, and they drive me batty sometimes, but it's not that—not really. I just wish I got a little more time to myself. I have a career too, you know.

Whatever.

Anyway, the kids came thundering down the stairs (probably woke that bitch Walburga Black's portrait again, but at least I can't hear her from down here; s'why the kitchen's my favorite room in this entire Godric-forsaken house). They grumbled and shouted and made hushing noises (Vic and Rosie), while the house shook on its foundations—if only it toppled over some day while we were all out, we could finally move—and they piled into the kitchen. I saw I'd been wrong in my numbers assessment—Dominique was there, too.

"Woah," commented Hugo. "A rabbit!" He's inherited my brother Ron's stunning command over stating the obvious.

"That's odd," said Roxy, with professional detachment.

"Cool!" said James. "I vote we name it the Death Gnawer." And he, Dominique, and Fred burst out laughing. I suppose that means the three of them have reached the Second War in History of Magic.

I frowned at James, trying to make him realize Death Eater jokes aren't funny, some of 'em are still around, not even in Azkaban, and back in the day they were murdering fiends—but he ignored me. He does that a lot lately. I hate it.

"What's a rabbit doing on the table?" asked Rosie sensibly. That's Rosie for you—she inherited her mother's brilliance.

Right on cue, the wall behind me moved—I knew because Lily shrieked, Dominique laughed, and Vic smiled indulgently—and arms snaked around my waist from behind. "Surprise!" breathed Teddy's voice in my ear. I didn't jump.

"Hello there, darling, glad you could make it back for the holidays," I said, twisting so we were face to face. Or as close as possible, anyhow—Teddy towers over me.

"Aunt Ginny!" he exclaimed happily, bending down to kiss me on each cheek. He exaggerated the movement for comedic effect (I heard the kids laughing behind us) and gave me a look. "You're really killing my back, you know. At this rate, I'll need a cane before I'm thirty."

I glared up at him. "Yes, I'm short," I snapped. "Tell me something I don't know."

"I brought you the rabbit," he confessed unblushingly. I turned around, breaking the embrace, frowning. I'd forgotten about that nuisance of a creature. "I thought it would be festive—fit the season, you know," Teddy continued.

I must not have looked happy, because Vic piped up in a wavering voice, "I'm sorry if you don't like her, Aunt Ginny—it was my idea. You know—Easter, rabbits…" she trailed off hopefully.

I frowned, then brightened. The perfect solution! We'd bring the rabbit over to the Burrow—no one would even notice in my childhood home's messy garden. "That was very thoughtful of you, Teddy and Vic," I said graciously. "Thank you."

Vic frowned a bit, but didn't say anything. Teddy grinned widely.

"Okay, kids," I said, taking a deep breath, "why don't you run along now, and take the rabbit with you—I need to work on dinner. Vic and Teddy, you two are in charge."

They filed out, Roxy scribbling busily on a spare bit of parchment, Rose whispering energetically to Al, and Vic holding Lily's hand. I saw Teddy's fingers touch the small of Vic's back, and she stiffened for a second and then relaxed into his touch. I smirked knowlingly.

Once they were all gone, along with the rabbit (I heard James, who was carrying it, loudly christen the creature "Our little Death Gnawer," but pretended not to), I was finally alone. In my kitchen.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and sank down into a chair, Summoning my favorite cookbook (_One Minute Feasts—It's Magic!_).

It's not that I don't love them all, because I do, but sometimes, having such a big family can be a pain. I seriously considered not having any more kids after James, which is why there's such a big gap between him and Al—but Harry really, really wanted another one, and eventually I gave in. Lily was actually an accident; after she was born, I went on the potion permanently. Take it every morning with my coffee. It's an expense, because I certainly don't have time to make it myself, and there aren't that many high-quality, capable potioneers out there—prices are high. But honestly, I think it's necessary.

I love my kids, and I'm not sorry I had Lily, even though I didn't plan it—but I just can't deal with more. I don't want to turn into my mother. It's like Luna says, when you're a kid, you want to be your parents. When you're a teen, you want to be the opposite of your parents. And, if you're really lucky, eventually you'll be mature enough to say, you know, there are some things about them I never want to emulate, but my folks were still right about a lot of stuff.

Turns out, that's what being an adult is all about: compromise. It took me a long time to see that.

Harry used to make dinner, back when I was with the Harpies—he still does all the cleaning (well—everything Kreacher doesn't do; I still can't get used to having a house-elf). I may not be the greatest cook in the world, but I really do enjoy it. It's like potions, only easier.

And, at the end of the day, food doesn't stick around for long (or at all) in this house—unlike words, which are pretty much around forever. I'm a writer.

I have diary-phobia and I don't write personal things much—I'm a journalist—but honestly, sometimes I never want to see another sentence about Quidditch again. I love the game, still—it's been years since I played with the Harpies, and since I only play sometimes when the kids need an extra Chaser at our Potter-Weasley family retreats. It was Percy's idea, and somehow we've kept going to 'em.

That's hardly the same, of course. I don't want to steal the game from the kids. They've almost got enough people to play properly (seven against seven) if Rosie, Roxy and Hugo can be cajoled into playing. For some reason they'd rather write or talk quietly instead of playing outside like normal kids. I think it kind of throws Ron, to be honest.

Anyway, I sat there, feeling at ease with myself and the world (except for a few niggling concerns about the rabbit) and flipped through the cookbook for a good recipe. Something that (as always) could feed upwards of ten people, some of them teenage boys, but that would still be at least passably interesting to the adult palate.

Also as usual, I hadn't been looking long when I was interrupted.

"Mom!" Lily shrieked, running in and skidding a little in her socks. "Dominique is mean!"

I know this already. Dominique's always been a bit of a problem child. Bill's totally blind to it, of course—she never says cutting things or steals Lily's toys just to be mean or James's notes in a vain attempt to match his grades when Bill's around. And, of course, she's Fleur's favorite child. Honestly, the way those two neglect Louis—! Vic's birthday means no one could ever ignore her, and she's the oldest Weasley cousin, not counting Teddy. But Louis just gets overlooked. It's horrid the way people ignore the youngest kid.

"I'm sorry, honey," I said soothingly. "Why don't you talk to Vic about it?"

Lily pouted, but she must've figured out I was busy, because she left eventually.

By the time Harry finally got home, I was keeping dinner warm and the kids were playing another round of Exploding Snap in the tapestry room. I figure, if the Blacks didn't care enough to put an Imperturbable Charm on it as well as a Permanent Sticking one, that's their problem.

Harry often brings work home with him—either in the literal, pages of parchment sense, or, sometimes, people (Kingsley, Gawain Robards, Ernie Macmillan once, Andromeda…or Ron and Hermione). Tonight he brought something better.

"Luna!" I exclaimed happily. I hadn't seen my best, strangest friend in ages. "How are you, sweetheart?" We embraced briefly, and she smiled beatifically at me.

"Marvelous. Rolf and I got rid of the Nargle infestation at home, and now everything's simply lovely! How are you?" she asked.

I shrugged. "All right. How're Lorcan and Lysander?"

Lorcan and Lysander are Luna's two sons—Lorcan's a year younger than Lily, and Lysander's only three. She and Rolf usually take them with on their long and unpredictable trips in search of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and the like, but sometimes they leave the boys with us. They're both adorable, and sometimes I could swear Lorcan is just as smart as Rosie! He really took to Calculus.

Luna said both her sons were fine (well, she said it longer), and the two of us had an excellent chat while she helped me serve dinner.

Harry and Teddy got into a really involved discussion about Teddy's future over pasta (poor Teddy—I could see him getting more and more nervous), and the kids kept the conflict to a minimum (though not the noise). It was only later, after Harry and I had sent Rosie, Roxy, Hugo, Fred, and Dominique to their respective homes and Teddy and Vic were having a heartfelt farewell in the front hall (right in front of that bitch's portrait—how they stand it—!), that the three of us settled down for a good chat.

Lily was supposed to be in bed, but I suspect she was pestering her older brothers—they're very patient, though, even James, so I wasn't worried.

"I really should go," Luna said at last. "The boys will be needing me, and I still have that article to finish."

"How's that going?" Harry asked, leaning back on the couch. "Nick Grant a reasonable editor?"

Luna shrugged. "I've had worse. He's quite interested in punctuality."

"As a concept?" I giggled, sipping my elf-made wine. "Must be frustrating."

"He reminds me a bit of Professor McGonagall," Luna was saying, and I think she went on, probably about stern people in positions of authority and whatnot, but I wasn't listening.

I'd just had the most fabulous idea.

I sat up straight, and exclaimed, "Luna! You've always told me how lonely it is writing when you're worried people won't believe your articles, and they'll never see what's right in front of them, right?"

She nodded, looking inquiringly at me.

"You know what we should do; it's obvious, really," I said excitedly. "I mean, we can't be the only ones, right? I can't believe I didn't think of this years ago!"

"What?" Harry asked, all at sea.

"A Writers' Group!" I explained. "We could call ourselves Witches for the Arcane Art of Sentence-Building, or The Quill is Mightier than the Wand, or Quill-tips Anonymous, or—"

"Let's be the Sugar Quills," suggested Luna dreamily. "They're awfully good, after all."

I laughed, because it's so Luna—and it's so right. The Sugar Quills—or maybe the Ice Cream Quills, or the Coffee Quills, or something else delightful and sweet. It's a great idea.

"Are you sure you're going to have time for this?" Harry asked skeptically. But I was in no mood to cavil at a few details.

"It's perfect, Luna!" I exclaimed, and the two of us talked it out—well, I talked, and she inserted an acquiescent comment or two—after a bit Harry got out some work. I guess I shouldn't be too annoyed that he isn't as interested as me—after all, he's not a writer.

Still, he might congratulate me on the idea. This is a social thing—a group for us to share thoughts and technique. It could develop into something major. It could not. Either way, I'm going to do it. I'm sure of that, now.

I need a new project.


	5. Sneakiness 101

For the Calendar Challenge. 5: May: family; "And so begins my life as a nun."

* * *

**Chapter 5: Sneakiness 101**

* * *

_Other things may change us, but we start and end with family. –Anthony Brandt_

_One loyal friend is worth ten thousand relatives. –Euripides_

_He who angers you conquers you. –Elizabeth Kenny_

* * *

Dear Diary,

I hate Dominique. I mean, really hate her.

Al says I should get over it, that she doesn't mean to be such a big meanie…

But, see, that doesn't work. Not after she stole my favorite book. Again. All it takes is for me to say I like something, and then she takes it. It's just not fair.

And no one else gets it, either. Like, when I tell James Dominique's mean, he just sort of shrugs and agrees and is like, "Tell her to bug off," which is fine, when you're the same age and Auntie Fleur won't say you're being a brat.

No one ever listens to me.

Here's what happened: I was reading _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_—the copy Auntie Hermione gave me for my seventh birthday. It's translated from the ancient runes, and she got the story from Beedle the Bard, so it's the real thing. Authentic.

Anyway, Dominique waited until everybody else was busy eating lunch and listening to Uncle Percy talk about some boring work thing, and when I leaned over to ask Hugo if Rose was being as impossible as Al about going to Hogwarts this autumn, she snatched it. When I looked back to my place, it was gone!

I said, quite reasonably, "Has anyone seen my book?" I knew it was Dominique who took it, because why else would she sit next to me instead of between James and Fred, who are her age, or next to Molly, who thinks she's brilliant, unless she wanted to torture me? It's not like it's the first time.

"Nope, haven't seen it," Dominique said, all breezy and calm and _older_. I hate that.

"I know you took it," I hissed. I reached over to grab it back (I spotted it sticking out of her pocket—she's not much for sneakiness, really), but Dominique hit me across the knuckles, and Auntie Angelina frowned at me.

"Hush," added Auntie Audrey, looking reverently at Uncle Percy. She's so weird. I've never seen anyone else look at Uncle Percy like they're not exasperated with him, even Molly and Lucy, 'cept her.

So I hushed. I needed a better plan, that was for certain.

Of course, after lunch, we all went to WWW, Uncle George and Auntie Angelina's shop, because, apparently, Teddy, Vic, James, Fred, Dominique, Molly, Roxane, and Louis, who're all at school, don't get to go there during the year. Too bad that makes Hogwarts not sound like such a walk in the park to_ me_, but whatever.

See, they all came home this weekend because Tuesday's the nineteenth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Some people call it the end of the Great War, or even just The War, like there've never been any others and won't be any more. Which is pretty stupid, and definitely optimistic. Dad's going to give a speech for it. You can tell because he's been crumpling up bits of parchment and swearing when he thinks we're not around.

So we were hanging out in WWW, and Al and Rose and Lucy were off somewhere chatting, and the grown-ups weren't paying attention, of course, so I grabbed Hugo and we snuck off to the backroom, where all the really interesting, forbidden stuff is.

"Wicked," Hugo said, all impressed. He was staring at this flashy sword, with the words Light-Shielder on the shelf below it.

"Is it supposed to shield a person from light? Does it create a shield made out of light? Maybe it turns into some sort of light-creature at night so a person can see properly?" I posited, curious in spite of myself. Uncle George and Auntie Angelina always have really cool magical objects. The ones in the front of the shop are all jokes, and "mostly harmless," according to Mom, but the backroom's for more serious stuff.

Hugo frowned at me. "It's obviously a light-_saber_, only they couldn't say that because of copy-rite in-syringe-min," he explained, or more accurately said, since it didn't make much sense to me.

"What's a light-saber? And where'd you learn copy-rite in-syringe-min, anyway? I don't think you can have got that word right," I said, frowning a bit. Hugo looked offended, so I hurried back into speech. "Anyway, what do you reckon we should do about Dominique? She took my book—you saw her!"

"Ask Auntie Ginny," Hugo suggested. "Or—hang on, I bet Mom'd help you—unless she thought Dominique wanted the book on account of learning more about Runes, or story-telling, or even just the written word, in which case she'd just start lecturing—do you know, she gave Rosie a copy of this big book, _Hogwarts, A History_, and it looked all official but I saw the inside, and she'd written all these notes in it, and she probably expects Rosie to study the whole thing back to front—"

"Yes, okay, but I need a plan," I interrupted. Rose and Auntie Hermione's saga of the book with the complex an-note-ations isn't my problem. "And Mom'd never help, she's probably busy yelling at James by now. I saw him swipe an Edible Dark Mark—I just hope he didn't feed it to Al, or he'll insist on being rushed to St. Mungo's. No, I've got to do this myself—and you're going to help me."

"Do what, exactly?" Hugo asked, frowning worriedly. Like I'd ever get him in trouble. Okay, so there was that one time with the cake and James's wand which he left just lying on the table—or the other time with Dominique's makeup, but honestly, who could resist—or the time that—well, anyway.

"Steal it back, of course," I said, because I'd thought about my options, and, really, that was clearly the best one. Grown-ups never listen to me, on account of how I'm the youngest, so they think I must be making things up, all except Dad, who thinks I'm like a saint, or my grandmom reincarnated. Auntie Fleur would never take my side in a quarrel with Dominique, Auntie Audrey disapproves of me, Uncle George wants everything to be a joke, and, like Hugo says, Auntie Hermione thinks the search for knowledge excuses any sin. And even Grandma Molly thinks I must be mistaken about things, even though she gives me sweets and tells me I'm a darling girl every time we see her. Grown-ups think children don't have the normal five senses. Make that six, on account of magic.

Hugo looked even more worried. So I explained my plan of attack: what we'll do is, we'll wait until after dinner tonight, just before everybody goes to their respective houses, and the grown-ups are all relaxing with a bit of elf-made wine or firewhiskey, depending on their preference (Grandpa Arthur won't drink anything stronger than wine, but Uncle Ron always has firewhiskey), and then, after Teddy and Vic take everybody under twenty into the garden to get out of the grown-ups' way, Hugo'll distract Dominique by asking her about her classes and whether she's going to flunk any exams this year, and I'll hang back and swipe the book out of her bag.

Of necessity, it leaves a lot of things to chance, but Vic'll take my side if she knows the whole story, and everybody, even Dominique, listens to Vic when she gets really serious. So there's a plan of last-resort, too. And it's certainly better than asking a grown-up for help. You'd think Hugo'd know better than _that._

Yours in scheming,

_Lily Luna Potter_

--

Dear Diary,

It's awful. I don't know if I can stand to write it. I said I hated Dominique—hate is too feeble a word for my feelings. _I loathe her._ I wish she'd drown in a vat of boiling Veritaserum, because then everyone would know the truth about her. I wish—

Sorry about that. I know I shouldn't get carried away. Al's always telling me I've got a terrible temper. Mom and Dad don't seem to notice, probably because Mom's got a temper too, and, like I said, Dad thinks I'm some kind of saint. Like, seriously. He's got these really high expectations for all three of us, of course, and Al's really scared he won't be able to live up to 'em at Hogwarts, but the truth is, I already can't. And James sort of can, really—I mean, Dad thinks he should be just like his namesake, too, but his namesake was famous for being a prankster and a bit of a prat, honestly, so that's all right. And Al's so quiet that you'd never be able to tell whether he's going to grow up to be just like two very different headmasters of Hogwarts, and people just look at him and his green eyes and say how much potential he has and how he's just like Dad.

I'm the one who doesn't fit. I mean, Grandma Lily was this amazing, perfect woman. She's famous for being kind, and brave, and self-sacrificing, and the best mother _ever._

And I'm what? Certainly not brave.

After I stopped writing in you, Diary, Hugo and I went back into the front of the shop, and we ended up chatting and watching James and Fred and Dominique quarrel about Quidditch, which they all play and are really passionate about, with Rose and Al and Lucy. Turned out James wants to give the edible Dark Mark as some kind of gag-gift to this Slytherin he knows, and I can't tell if it's supposed to be an insult or not. James is weird that way.

Anyway, then we all went back to the Burrow, and Grandma Molly got me and Vic and Rose and Roxane to help her in the kitchen (actually, Vic volunteered), and that took awhile.

It was kind of fun, to tell you the truth. I don't like cooking much, but Vic, Rose and Roxane are some of my favorite cousins, besides Hugo, and it's nice having just girls sometimes. Minus Dominique, thank Godric.

Grandma Molly made me help a bit with everything, because I'm not old enough yet to get one dish all to myself. Vic made dessert and an appetizer, but what can you do? Besides being much older than me, she's brilliant at practically everything. And of course, she doesn't think so, which just makes her that much more perfect.

At dinner, James gave Fred all these lead-in lines, and Fred made joke after joke after joke. I could tell he looked strained—he's pretty serious, really, and he doesn't much care for making fun of people—but I don't think Uncle George and Auntie Angelina noticed. They never do.

Then, just as expected, the grown-ups sat back in their chairs, Summoned wine and firewhiskey, and started talking about politics, or something equally boring. Teddy smiled at Vic all secretly, and the two of them led the way outside, holding hands.

Teddy's great. I mean, really great. He's smart, without being a know-it-all like Rose, and funny, without being a prat like James, and nice, without being all sugary like Vic, or all fake like Dominique. He's just—wonderful. I know I always say Hugo's my favorite cousin, but the truth is, Teddy's just—well, he's just—perfect. You know?

"Let's play—" Vic started, but I've got no idea what she was going to say; as usual, Louis interrupted with his perpetual cry:

"Quidditch!" Louis told me once, if it weren't for Quidditch, he doesn't know how he'd survive.

Vic shrugged, and Teddy said, "All right, then, who wants to come with me to get the brooms out of Grandpa Arthur's shed?"

"I'll come," Louis began, but Dominique interrupted him.

She said, "Lily, why don't you go? After all, isn't Teddy just 'the bravest, handsomest, specialest person in the whole wide world'?"

I froze, cold all over. I'd forgotten about that. See, I wrote that, back when I was seven—you know, young and foolish—in my book. It talked about the knight, you know, and I was like, Teddy's so much better than that, and I ended up writing something like, "Teddy Lupin is the bravest, handsomest, specialest person in the whole wide world," in the margin.

"Looks like somebody's got a little crush on you, huh, Teddy?" jeered Dominique. "I guess you've got competition, Vic!"

Vic glared. Unfortunately, even Vic's glares are adorable. It's hard to take her seriously sometimes.

"What's the matter, Lily?" Dominique kept going. "Don't you want to go with the guy who's better than 'any fairy-tale knight who's ever lived'?"

I realize, writing this down, that fairy-tale knights don't actually live, in the strictest sense, but, what can I say, I was only seven.

At the time, I could barely move, I was so angry. I felt like my whole body had turned into a column of fire, only it was bounded by ice, and so, instead of lashing out with either a fiery defense or an icy, sardonic attack, I was being melted and burned from the inside out.

I could barely see or hear the others, though I expect they were laughing. Molly usually does, and Lucy, and even Fred and James, sometimes.

"Leave my sister alone," James said, then—I heard that, because it surprised me a bit. James and I pick at each other all the time, way more than either of us fights with Al, and besides, he and Fred and Dominique have always been close, on account of all being the same age and loving Quidditch and being in Gryffindor and supposed to be the next generation of pranksters, like Uncle George and poor Uncle Fred who died in the War.

"Hey, I'm just reporting on the facts," said Dominique breezily. "Not my fault if she can't keep her pathetic little crush to herself."

At that, I risked a glance at Teddy. He looked annoyed. Of course, now he knows I—like him. And I know he doesn't like me, not as more than a cousin, and that's fine, _really_—but now maybe he doesn't like me at all, since I'm such an idiot, and Dominique made it sound much worse than it was, and what if he hates me now?

And I know he's with Vic, because you'd have to be blind not to see it, and I don't mind—much. Really I don't.

"Dominique," Teddy said then, in a voice I've rarely heard him use, "Shut up."

"Give Lily back her book, Dominique," added Vic, ever the voice of reason.

Dominique pouted, but she dropped the book, and Hugo grabbed it before it could hit the ground, for which I was very grateful.

I ran upstairs, and Hugo gave me my book, and now I'm hiding up here in the attic with the ghoul, who keeps looking at me all funny, but doesn't seem to mind too much. At this point, I'd take a ghoul over my cousins for sure.

No guy is ever going to like me—I'm an idiot, and I'm not even pretty: my hair looks artificially red even though it's not, I'm too skinny, and my chin's all pointy, so my face ought to be heart-shaped, like Vic's, but it doesn't quite manage. I've even got freckles, which I hate more than anything—Dad says they're cute, just like Mom's, but they look right on Mom, and on me they look like I'm about to come down with spattergroit, or Polka Dot Disorder.

And Teddy probably hates me. So begins my life as a nun.

And you know what the worst part is? My scheme didn't even work. I didn't steal back my book—Dominique dropped it in the mud, or would've, if it hadn't been for Hugo.

I can't do anything right.

Yours in woe (and pathetic-ness),

_Lily_ (not the superhero one)


	6. Me, Myself, and Inga

For the Calendar Challenge: 6, June, friends, "I have a redheaded temper and an ADD attention span."

* * *

**The Nineteenth Year**

**Chapter Six: Me, Myself, and Inga**

------------------------------------------------------**  
**

"You probably won't remember the test you failed, but you will never forget the person you were with the night before, when you decided not to study."

"Every person is a new door to a different world."

"Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down."

* * *

Exams. Most people hate them; they feel put on the spot, confused, helpless—they're afraid of doing worse than they should, based on an objective measure of their intellect. They're terrified of forgetting everything they ever learned, of letting one instant's panic ruin their chances for the rest of their lives.

With me, it's just the opposite.

Every test, I'm holding back. I'm deliberately choosing answers that are almost right. I add stupid grammar mistakes into my essays. I accidentally on purpose forget to research my facts properly.

After all, my parents never did that great in school—my Dad was busy causing trouble and getting detention, and my Mom barely got off her broom long enough to take exams, much less study for them. I guess that means the family honor demands I do better, and I do—just not that much better than they did.

Every exam I take, I fudge it a little—make it clear that I'm either too lazy or too narrow-minded to get it exactly right. And it works—my teachers like me, but they all bemoan my wasted potential; my classmates know I'm competent, but don't suspect me of being some kind of nerd.

It's just—these are my _O.W.L.s. _It has to be wrong not to do my best on them.

I was thinking about all this in the library one evening when I should (or should not) have been studying for Transfiguration. Around me, fellow fifth-years bent over their books in desperation, trying to memorize material they didn't understand the first time around.

My cousin James was leaning over Slytherin fourth-year Altaira Malfoy's shoulder, probably about to hex her parchment or something else completely juvenile. Everyone knows he fancies her except him. Honestly, that guy is clueless. I don't know if she knows or not—she and I really don't move in the same circles.

"Bored?" a smooth voice asked from behind me. I turned, surprised. Someone dared to interrupt my studying? All my fellow Gryffs know I take school seriously, and 'Claws are too geeky themselves and 'Puffs too polite to interrupt anyone. Which left—

"Me, too," she laughed. She was perched on the arm of the chair next to mine. I couldn't help noticing that her lounge-robes were rather…form-fitting. Her hair was black—not brown-black, like Aunt Audrey's, but really deep black—and it gently curled its way down her back to her hips. Her eyes were dark, as well, but light seemed to shimmer in the back of them. She had that look that all purebloods get, you know the one: _who could possibly ignore me?_

I'd never realized before that it's kind of adorable.

"Name's Inga Sullivan," she said, taking pity on me. "I have a redheaded temper and an ADD attention span. And you?"

Now, here's the thing: no pureblood knows the word 'ADD.' I mean, okay, everyone in my family does, but that's only because of Granddad's obsession with everything Muggle.

I must've looked as confused as I felt, because she laughed. "I knew it!" she exclaimed. "You're the only real one here!"

"In all fairness—" I began, then decided to leave it. After all, if a beautiful girl says you're the only real person present, what can you do but go along? "I'm Fred Weasley," I said instead. "Nice to meet you."

"And you," she responded politely.

"How did I not know you before?" I asked. The point had been troubling me. The school isn't that large, after all, and if she was here now, she had to be either a fifth or seventh year.

Inga shrugged. "Guess you weren't looking. Care to start?"

Did I! "Lead on," I said, getting up and closing my Transfiguration book. I already knew most of it anyway.

"Macduff," she finished, and giggled.

As we left the library together, under the disapproving gaze of ancient Madame Pince, I asked the question I'd been longing to since 'ADD.' "How do you know so much about Muggle culture?"

Inga smiled. "You pick up a few things."

"In—" for this I had determined, otherwise we would've met long before—"Slytherin?"

"Muggle Studies," Inga corrected me gently. "How about you?"

"Family reunions," I answered automatically. "Granddad loves that sort of stuff, and Aunt Hermione—well, if it's a book, she'll read it. Y'know?"

"My mom was like that," Inga said softly.

I noted the past tense. We were in an empty space of corridor at the moment, and I stopped and looked into those marvelous dark eyes of hers. "I'm sorry."

"S'okay. It was a long time ago." Inga looked fragile for the first time. I felt almost like she was two different girls; the laughing sprite in the library, and now someone in very real pain.

"I…" I cleared my throat. I'd never talked about this with anyone outside my family—hell, anyone besides Roxy, my sister, and James, the cousin I'm closest to—before. "My uncle—died, in the war. I'm named for him. My parents are still pretty wrapped up in it all—he was my dad's twin, and—well, you know how it goes." I wanted to voice my long-held suspicion that my mom had actually been in love with Uncle Fred, but I hadn't known Inga that long; however much I liked her, I couldn't tell her anything too private. What if she turned out to Rowena Wheeler's apprentice? My cousin Lily told me Wheeler's worse than Rita Skeeter.

"I'm sorry," Inga echoes, and we stood there, a bit awkwardly, until, at the same moment, we both started walking toward the war memorial in the Entrance Hall. It was like we'd communicated with a sort of mutual Legilimency—the Muggles call this telepathy, and I have to say the word has less negative connotations in our culture than Legilimency, which You-Know-Who used all the time.

There's no harm in saying his name now, and most of the family does, but I think it's more respectful of the many families that lost someone to give the evil that destroyed their lives a fitting weight, if you know what I mean. Wars aren't something to joke about.

In spite of the Edible Dark Marks my parents still sell at WWW.

The memorial is huge—it's a wonder people can still get through this Hall. It's onyx, with names written in gold. Everyone who died in both wars. Well—all the people on the side of truth, justice, and Dumbledore's way, at any rate.

When we reached it, Inga traced golden names idly, touching as many as she could. Automatically, my eyes found my name—my Uncle Fred's name.

"Do you…? Is your mother…?" I asked awkwardly.

"No," Inga said, and didn't elaborate. But I thought I could fill in the rest. See, it's a little-known fact that You-Know-Who killed about as many of his followers as people who opposed him. Little-known in the sense that those who do know, by and large, only care about it as a number, or a symptom of megalomania (like in all those articles Roxy reads). And those people had families, too.

Their names aren't on the memorial.

Hesitantly, I reached out and touched Inga's shoulder, offering my sympathy.

She turned and gave me a strange little half-smile. We stood like that for a moment before she shook her head and broker the spell.

"You know," she said mischievously, "it's such a nice evening, seems a pity to waste it pouring over dusty old books…"

I smiled in spite of myself. "Race you to the lake!" I yelled, running for the doors. She laughed and followed.

I was shocked at myself—I'm never impetuous, never—but at that moment, I didn't care.

--

"Brrrinnnggg!" Godric, I hate Dave's Muggle 'alarm clock.' He enchanted it to run on magic instead of batteries. What a terrible invention. Not content with waking him with a truly horrendous racket every morning, it makes sleep impossible for the rest of the fifth-year Gryffindor boys as well. Normally, I have sense enough to cast a Silencing Charm before I go to sleep, but even then James'll wake me: he doesn't like being the only one to suffer.

I rolled over, pulled my pillow over my ears, and blindly reached for my wand. I waved it in the general area of the odious alarm clock, and I must've been successful, because there was sudden, blessed silence.

I sighed in relief, and tried to recapture my dream. There was a girl in it—a marvelous, as-close-to-perfect-as-reality-permits, glorious girl…

--

Must've been hours later when I woke again, this time abruptly and completely. The room had that cold and empty feel dormitories get when everyone's gone.

I swung out of bed and pulled on my robes, feeling a bit disoriented.

What was going on? Where was everyone?

Then I glanced at Dave's alarm clock.

Seconds later (literally one hundred and forty-three of them, I counted) I raced into the Great Hall, where small tables stretched in all directions.

The Transfiguration exam had been going on for an hour and forty-six minutes already. I was very late.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley," said ancient Professor Flitwick. "So you've decided to join us. At last."

"Sorry, Professor," I gasped, still a little out of breath.

He laughed, patted me gently on the back, and handed me an examination paper.

--

"Wow," James teased afterward, "that was some exam. I'd hate to have missed half the time we had to do it. That's the kind of exam that takes every second of its allotted time, don't you think, Fred?"

"Shut up," I said good-naturedly. We were walking toward the lake outside, and I couldn't help smiling a bit as I recalled the previous night with Inga.

We'd spent the entire night talking—I didn't get back to the dorm until sunrise. Walking around the grounds, just getting to know one another…I've never met anyone I connected with so well. Normally I'm quiet around girls, never know what to say to them, but Inga—! We talked and talked, I told her more about my thoughts, my life, than anyone, ever. And she told me about herself—it was amazing. I think I—

"You missed the _O.W.L. exam_, Fred!" Dominique interrupted my thoughts.

I scowled at her. "I didn't miss the entire exam," I protested.

"Guess that's one subject the rest of us have got a head start on," James said lightly, but I saw worry in his eyes. James is such a good guy; he was afraid I'd suffer because I didn't do so well. He knows how important school and learning are to me.

Right at that moment, though, I couldn't care less. I was already starting to forget the exam; all I could think about was Inga. I couldn't wait to see her again.

And the truth is, I rather enjoyed having only half the exam period. My quill dashing over the parchment, my eyes scanning each question with practiced, easy speed—it was great. For the first time in my life, I didn't hold back at all.


	7. Magic Numbers

For the Calendar Challenge: July, 7, fireworks, "If a week goes by and your friends are not completely confused or terrified by one of your actions, you're not doing your job."

* * *

**The Nineteenth Year**

**Chapter Seven: Magic Numbers**

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------**  
**

We worry about what a child will become tomorrow, yet we forget that he is someone today. –Stacia Tauscher

Love is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem of human existence. –Eric Fromm

I wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then. –Bob Seger

* * *

"…And then the Crumple-Horned Snorkack took one last look around at the beautiful city that it had just helped save from the army of Umgubular Slashkilters, and left for its own peaceful forest home."

"Another story!" my son, Lorcan Scamander, age seven years, one month, four days, and one hour, insisted.

His twin, Lysander, was already asleep. And no wonder, since he'd spent the day swimming in the lake with several of the Weasley cousins. None of them were staying the night, because everyone's getting ready for Harry's thirty-seventh birthday on Monday. Poor Harry. He'd really prefer a simpler celebration. Maybe even just him and Ginny.

"Not tonight, Lorcan," I told him. He pouted, but he knew better than to insist: it was a working night for me.

I scanned the twins' room for Wrackspurts before I left, but luckily, the charm I'd made seemed to be keeping them away. Lysander helped with it; he's got a good eye.

Downstairs, I floated into the dining room, trying to organize my thoughts. "Umgubular Slashkilters—camouflage—predatory patterns," I murmured, visualizing the headings in my thoughts. I was trying to write an article without parchment and ink, and it can get complicated, unless I say something aloud.

"Hi, Luna-love," Rolf called to me, and I leaned over his chair, absently running his smooth auburn hair through my fingers. It's softer than a Demiguise, you know.

"Twins in bed?" he asked eventually.

"Mmm-hmm."

"And the girls are asleep?"

"Mmm-hmm." The girls are our other set of twins—they were only one year, nine months, two weeks, three days, and ten hours old, and their names are Rachana and Ravenna. They have their own room too, but Arthur Weasley helped me set up a Monitoring Charm, so I know if they're getting restless.

"Are you busy now?"

"Mmm-hmm." This time my inarticulate monosyllables had a slightly regretful tone. But the truth is that I had to work that night.

"Are you ever going to be done with The Book?" Rolf sounded like he needed some attention. I climbed into his lap, leaning my head against his chest.

"Mmm-hmm."

"What are you working on tonight?" he asked. I knew he was really interested—Rolf's got a career of his own—he built our house, and it's just about perfect—but he's always liked observing creatures in their native environments with me.

We've also got four Kneazles, three unicorns, a Jobberknoll, a Runespoor (the children know not to get too close to him)…the forest has several wood-nymphs, and no dragons.

"I thought I'd spend some time with Rufus," (the Runespoor). "I just feel like he's very misunderstood—besides, if I leave him alone too long, his third head will drive the other two to distraction—so convenient, isn't it? Having three heads for the different aspects of one's personality and thoughts? Throughout history, three has been the magic number—Freud gives us the ego, the id, and the superego, which correspond very nicely to Rufus's planner, dreamer, and critic. It wouldn't surprise me at all if Fluffy had something similar—do you think I should ask Hagrid if we can borrow him?"

"I don't know, Luna-love," Rolf frowned. "Hagrid may not relish the thought of you psychoanalyzing his pets. Of course, the same motif might be said to apply to the stereotypical, conventional family unit—"

"Father as critic or planner? Child as dreamer," I agreed, trying to puzzle it out. As always, I enjoyed the intellectual challenge.

Rolf and I discussed it for much of the night, until I recalled my plan to calm Rufus down. I also wanted to refine the section on serpents, in particular Runespoors, in The Book.

The Book doesn't have a name yet—I never feel I can name anything until I see it in some form of completeness. Maybe that's why I refused to use any of the Weasleys' excellent suggestions for baby names. Rolf and I decided for ourselves when the twins were born. And then the twins.

The Book will be a cumulative treatise on Magical Creatures and their history. I don't know when it will be finished. Rolf isn't technically a co-author, but he's invaluable to my work.

Which is why he came with me to talk to Rufus, even though he had an early meeting with Kingsley the next morning—business. I try and stay out of that. I just admire Rolf's art.

The next morning, Rolf and I were woken by the twins—the girls, technically, but Lorcan and Lysander woke immediately in response to the crying. They're both so responsible.

Rolf had his meeting, and I firecalled Neville to wish him happy birthday. In all the flurry over Harry, Neville has a tendency to get overlooked.

"Hey, Luna," he said casually, when I'd laid down on my stomach in front of the fireplace so as to comfortably converse with him. "How are you and Rolf? Kids doing okay?"

"Yes, thank you. Happy birthday."

"Thanks. You know you're the first person to tell me that?"

I didn't say anything, just watched him. "Okay, so Hannah's not up yet," he admitted. I knew he was being facetious—Neville isn't that neglected.

"Thirty-seven is a prime number whose digits add up to ten, which adds up to one—you may be wanting your own way more this year," I told him seriously.

He laughed. "Maybe I will. Hannah and I'll see you at Harry's party, right?"

"Of course." I don't normally like parties—most people give me weird looks, and I usually end up in a corner somewhere admiring the wallpaper and looking for Nargle infestations—but I wouldn't miss Harry's birthday. Besides, the children will be there, and those parties are always better.

After I got out of the fire with Neville, I was just about to work on my weekly article for the Magical Creatures section of the _Daily Prophet_ (this week's about Umgubular Slashkilters, if I can get the necessary evidence) when James Sirius Potter burst through my front door in a small whirlwind (literally; I noted the frequency and wavelength of the air currents with interest).

"Aunt Luna!" he exclaimed. "You have to help me!"

Blinking, I gestured for him to sit down, and pulled out some Gurdyroot ice cream. He looked like he could use the sugar boost, and Gurdyroots are actually very nutritious. Lysander watched me spoon it out acquisitively, but Lorcan was too busy drawing what looked like our Kneazle, Eurig, and the twins (Rachana and Ravenna) were finger-painting in the art corner. Besides, they're too young for ice cream.

I gave Lysander a bowl with two spoons, and he immediately understood that he and Lorcan were meant to share; I handed James a bowl, which he dug into with relish—he's probably growing; and licked the spoon myself before casting a quick _Scourgify._

Then I sat down across from James, and waited.

"See," he said, after his fifth spoonful. "There's this girl. She's—well, it's complicated, but she's amazing, y'know? I thought we were just frenemies—"

I raised my eyebrows.

"Cross between friends and enemies," James explained. "As close to being friends as a Gryff and a Slyth can be without major betrayal of your House. So anyway, we've hung out a lot, and she's absolutely brilliant—nearly as smart as Rosie, and you know her, she's like a child-genius. And she's—when we're together, it's like fireworks are going off in my head, she's just that—wow, y'know? And—I fancy her. I didn't realize until yesterday—it just came to me, like a lightning strike, y'know?—but I really,_ really_ fancy her, and now everything's terrible!"

"Why?" I asked simply. "Does she like you?"

"Yeah, I think so—and that's so not the problem, anyway, it's not like I've got Dragonpox—no, see, the thing is, she's—well, her parents and mine have never exactly gotten along—"

"And you think Harry and Ginny will be prejudiced against her because of her parents?" I knew I sounded faintly incredulous, and the truth is, I was. I can't imagine judging someone based on something over which they have no control—which is why I could never understand the Death Eaters. Voldemort, of course, had a completely different idea.

"Well, not ordinarily," said James, looking uncomfortable, "but, well, she's a _Malfoy_."

He seemed to feel this explained everything, but I found myself still at something of a loss. "Harry and Draco have been friends for some time now," I tell him firmly. Of course, they don't know it, precisely—but then, I daresay they do, however reluctant they may be to admit it. Sometimes, petty rivalries and quarrels can make just as good a foundation for friendship as mutual interests and respect. It's a great gift, when it happens.

"Well—what harm, right?" James asked, trying to convince himself. He'd long since finished the ice cream, and I could see his shoulders were relaxed. "After all, the war's over—and Tairi's nothing like those idiotic Death Nibblers, anyway."

"What's a Death Nibbler?" Lysander demanded.

"What? Oh, it's a evil person who went by an even lamer name than the one I just made up," James summarized.

"Does that mean they nibble death? Like _eat_ it?" Lysander asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Gross," Lorcan said decidedly, and returned to his artistic endeavor,

James laughed. "Yeah, gross."

"Good," I said firmly, glad the children had the appropriate contempt for a system that never made any sense to me. Evil deserves ridicule, if anything does.

James blinked at me, and then grinned. "If a week goes by and your friends are not completely confused or terrified by one of your actions, you're not doing your job," he quoted (I'm guessing from a friend—it had that sound), and jumped up, raced around the table and kissed my cheek. "Thanks, Aunt Luna—you're the _best_."

"Yeah, Mummy's the best!" echoed Lysander happily.

James was gone in another whirlwind, but this time I didn't get the chance to analyze the air currents. Instead, Lorcan handed me the picture he'd drawn, and I saw it had our whole family—me, with Rachana on my lap, Rolf, holding Ravenna, Lysander and Lorcan sitting at our feet and cuddling Eurig, Aragorn, Caramel, and Beatrice, our Kneazles, while Rufus had an entire corner of the picture to himself, and Jade the Jobberknoll, and Bronwen, Gabriel, and Luciana, our unicorns, in the other corner.

I felt tears starting in my eyes—it was so beautiful. Looking down at the drawing, and then the happy faces of my two adorable sets of twins, here in this house that Rolf built for our family, I felt truly blessed.


	8. Making Connections

For the Calendar Challenge: August, 8, beach, "No one is nicer than I am. There was once, but I took care of that."

* * *

**The Nineteenth Year**

**Chapter Eight: Making Connections**

* * *

"Integrity simply means not violating one's own identity." –Erich Fromm

"Other things may change us, but we start and end with family." –Anthony Brandt

"The family is a haven in a heartless world." –Christopher Lasch

* * *

"Don't forget essence of dittany—we're running low!" Lucius called. "And if Ollivander gives you any trouble—"

Privately, I reflected that said trouble would be deserved, but the wandmaker hadn't objected to selling Altaira her wand a couple of years ago, so I didn't see why he would start now. "Don't worry, darling," I soothed.

Lucius was just worried because he wasn't coming along this year—he had an important meeting with Malfoy Ltd.'s board of governors. Unfortunately, that was only his excuse. In fact, he didn't want to see Andromeda.

Teddy's graduated now, but my sister was going to meet us in Diagon Alley, presumably with at least one Weasley cousin in tow. My husband and I had talked it over, and we agreed there was no reason to subject him to such extreme provocation. It grieves me deeply that Lucius and Andromeda still can barely meet one another with civility.

However, now that the moment was at hand, Lucius was fretting. After all, this is Scorpius's first year, so it's natural that Lucius should be worried. Although he was never this on edge when Altaira was first going to Hogwarts.

Draco, Astoria and the children departed for the extensive drive then, and Lucius and I had a moment alone. "It'll be all right," I whispered, standing on tiptoe and leaning my forehead against his.

He had to look cross-eyed in order to keep me in focus. We stayed like that for at least a minute, and then he put his hands around my waist and lifted me reluctantly away from him a step. "Just be careful," he said brusquely. But he can't hide from me; I knew he was really worried.

Perhaps that's why the expedition seemed to have a doomed feeling from the start to me. My son and his wife were certainly in spirits, and the children indulged in a few affectionate quarrels before the Knight Bus arrived.

In my day, no pureblood of sufficient standing traveled by the Knight Bus, but children under seventeen (all three of them) can't Apparate, and Floo powder has that unfortunate tendency to cause its user to be covered in ash and soot—not a pleasant prospect. Besides, it's a politically savvy move: make the world believe the Malfoys don't think they're too good to ride the Knight Bus like normal people—though we are.

It was quite crowded, and the ride was rather bumpy. At least it has that purple hue—a royal color, if nothing else.

At last we arrived (the less said about that nightmarish ride the better). Almost at once, Altaira insisted her parents give her Galleons for new, 'better fitting' robes.

"I don't want my daughter parading around in little more than an evening dress," Draco complained. He knows that evening wear is one of the most revealing clothing genres. And robes do lend themselves to that sort of thing.

"Be glad it's not that new transparent-below-mid-thigh thing," I said drily.

"Thanks for the tip, Grandma Cissy," Altaira retorted, smirking. Her insolence twisted my heart-strings a bit—she reminded me of my sister Bellatrix in that moment.

"Mummy? If I'm really, really good, can I have a present?" asked Vulpecula, giving Astoria the full impact of a dizzyingly adorable smile. Honestly, I'm surprised all children aren't Sorted into Slytherin.

"We'll see," Astoria told her, and I caught a glimpse of Andromeda, just emerging from Flourish and Blott's.

Behind her trailed two boys, both with that trademark impossible-to-tame Potter hair. One was about Scorpius's age, and the other closer to Altaira's.

Andromeda and I kissed one another on each cheek, and she introduced the boys: the elder was called James, the younger Albus. On the whole, I reflected, it was just as well Lucius hadn't accompanied us—a child named after Albus Dumbledore? Is Potter ambitious, misguided, or simply careless of the fates?

"Albus is just starting this year, too," Andromeda said. Her tone was mild, but I sensed her confusion: encourage Albus and Scorpius to bond, as they are both the same age, or keep the child Potter entrusted to her as far away from Scorpius Malfoy as humanly possible? I can only say I didn't feel her pain.

"That's lovely," I said, however. "So you've been to Flourish and Blott's? Why don't we split up? Scorpius needs all new books, and Altaira probably ought to pick up a few things."

"What?" the elder Potter, James, had been whispering in Altaira's ear. To her credit, she didn't blush, but continued, "Sure, that's a good idea. I'll go get everything—I remember all the first year books."

"Give her your list anyway, Scorp, just to make sure," advised Astoria. He handed it over, and James bowed slightly.

"I'll help you, fair lady," he told Altaira. "You'll need a nice, strong wizard to carry all those books for you."

"Hold open doors, generally go out of his way to do everything for me that I can do for myself…" Altaira teased him, and they laughed and walked off together before Draco could protest. My poor son just isn't prepared for a teenage daughter.

By mutual consent, the rest of us started walking toward Ollivander's, and Andromeda and I ended up a few steps behind Draco, Astoria, Vulpecula, Scorpius, and Albus (who looked rather forlorn and abandoned, poor thing).

"So…how's it going with you and Kirley?" I asked. She's kept me more or less posted on the whole thing since March, and, as far as I knew, they were still going strong. In a way, it was a relief, doing my sisterly duty to tease her about her boyfriend. Something normal, after everything we've been through.

"I don't know," she sighed, kicking a loose stone. It rolled a few paces in front of Scorpius, and Vulpecula promptly nudged him, clearly challenging him to a game of kick-the-rock.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"It's just…well, I think maybe we're going too fast," she confessed.

"Andromeda," I said gently, "you've been dating this guy for months. What's too fast? Did he ask you to marry him?"

"No, but he wants us to move in together," she said in a rush. "Oh, Cissy, how can I do that? The house I raised Teddy in, the house Nymphadora—" she broke off, and if we hadn't been in such a public location, I expect she would've started crying.

"He wants you to leave?" I asked, surprised. "Wouldn't it be simpler if he moved in to your place?"

"For me," she said wryly, and I got a glimpse of the old Andromeda. "But even then, I'm just not sure—I mean, it feels too soon—"

"Too soon with Kirley? Or too soon after Ted?"

She gave me a swift, curious look. "Both, I guess—you've never called him Ted," she pointed out.

It's true—I'm afraid Lucius's name for him, that-idiot-Mudblood-Hufflepuff, rather stuck in my mind—though after The Reconciliation, I naturally never said it—Tonks made a more or less acceptable substitute, or there's always 'your husband.'

"Seemed like it was time," I shrugged.

"To start treating him like a human person?" she demanded acerbically. "Sorry, Cissy," she said an instant later, "I'm just surprised."

We left it at that uncomfortable point then, because we'd reached Ollivander's. In the event, the shop was rather crowded for all seven of us, so Andromeda, Vulpecula, Albus and I waited outside.

I had leisure to observe Albus slumping against the clouded shop window, clearly sulking.

"What's the matter?" I asked, going to stand beside him. Out of the corner of my eye, I observed Andromeda and Vulpecula beginning a spirited game of wand-cloak-stone.

"Nothing," he mumbled.

I crossed my arms, lifted one eyebrow, staring at him, and waited.

As expected, he cracked under the strain. "Why should I talk to you? You're not even related to me," he complained.

"Actually," I felt compelled to point out, "you and I are second cousins, once removed. So you can tell me what the problem is." I rather approved his family-centric attitude, I must say.

"Really?" he asked, seemingly interested for the first time. "Can I call you Grandma Cissy like they do?"

"Why not?" Potter's son, calling me Grandma Cissy. Definitely a good thing Lucius didn't come today, I couldn't help reflecting.

"'Kay. So then you're like family."

I nodded.

"The thing is," Albus said finally, "I'm going to Hogwarts this fall, and so's my cousin Rose, and I wanted to go shopping for our wands and everything with her, you know? And now she gets to go later this week with Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron and Hugo, just a their little family thing, and I'm stuck getting everything with Grandromeda and a bunch of blonde people I've never met but who're probably all in Slytherin and James doesn't even seem to mind, bloody hypocrite!" He ended on a rather loud and passionate note, and inwardly I smiled at his strictures on his brother.

"In fact," I said mildly, "neither Astoria nor Vulpecula is blonde, Astoria was in Ravenclaw, and Vulpecula and Scorpius have yet to be Sorted, like you."

"Details," Albus said impatiently, waving a hand.

I smiled, involuntarily liking the boy.

"You know what the worst part is?" Albus continued, after a pause. "Lily's off at Aunt Luna's, and Mom and Dad are having a 'private' weekend at the beach house! If I didn't have to get my stupid books and stuff for school, _I _could be at the beach! And I don't even get to buy _my _wand _first_!"

"Your parents don't seem to have thought this through," I commented, as mildly as I could. The thought that Potter and that Weasel-girl didn't even have the decency to take their own child to Diagon Alley to buy his wand—well, I always knew they were a different sort of people, but I thought Potter was all right—stopped the Dark Lord, didn't he? That's worth a social faux-pas or two.

"Thanks," Albus said, smiling up at me. He looked much happier now that he'd had the chance to let off some steam. "You're really nice, Grandma Cissy."

"There is no one nicer than I am," I said lightly, then added, partly just to see how he'd react, "there was once, but I took care of that."

Albus stared at me for a confused moment, then burst out laughing. Andromeda smiled uncertainly over at us, and Vulpecula looked like she wanted to hear the joke.

They all thought I was kidding.

Eventually, Scorpius found the wand for him, and Grandr—sorry, Andromeda took Albus in to get his own wand. He's an interesting child, that one. I must keep an eye on him.

I took Vulpecula with me to complete some grocery shopping for the Manor—ordinarily, we'd have a house-elf do it, but ever since 'the Mudblood Granger's blasted torture bill,' one has to pay the elves extra for errands. Lucius hates it.

At length, we reunited with Altaira and her latest lovelorn swain, who was, indeed, carrying all the books (with the aid of a possibly, technically illegal, underage magic Levitation Charm). Andromeda and the two Potter boys departed, and the family made its way homeward.

It wasn't until we were just two nightmarish, unsettling jumps from the Manor that Scorpius leaned in close to me and confided, "It all seems much more real, now."

"Hogwarts?" I asked.

"I'm really going to be away from you all—for a whole year!" His eyes were wide with ninety-three percent abject terror and seven percent hopeful excitement.

"What, you're not going to come see us for Christmas?" I teased.

"Well, yeah, but that's still like ages," he insisted.

"Yes," I agreed, "you'll be at Hogwarts. You'll miss your home and your family, but you'll love your new classes, you'll make new friends, you'll learn a lot, and you'll have your sister there, so you won't be entirely alone. Just be careful—there are some people out there who'll give you a hard time because of who you are. _You're a Malfoy—_never forget that. And there are some people who'll expect you to be…something else."

"I'm just me," Scorpius said blankly. "How could I be anything else?"

"Exactly," I said, blinking and leaning his head against my shoulder. "How could any of us be anything else?"

And I blew on the windowpane, and traced Lucius's initials in the fog, just like a lovesick girl. How, indeed?


	9. Old Salt Mines

For the Calendar Challenge: September , 9, school; "It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything."

* * *

**The Nineteenth Year**

**Chapter Nine: Old Salt Mines**

* * *

"Forgiveness is the ultimate sacrifice."

"Every person is a new door to a different world."

"True friends stab you in the _front."_ –Oscar Wilde

* * *

"Weasley, Rose!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

My life is over. I just can't believe it. Rose is in Ravenclaw. Honestly, I guess I should have seen it coming—I mean, she_ is_ a genius, everyone says so, even Uncle Percy.

But then again, Weasleys _always _end up in Gryffindor, it's tradition! How was I supposed to know Rose was just going to gleefully skip off to Ravenclaw without so much as a glance at yours truly?

Because that's what she did; the Hat screamed out its dread tidings, and cool as you please, Rose takes it off, hands it to a skinny girl with blonde ringlets ("Whitaker, Hermione!") and sashays over to the Ravenclaw table—filled with people she's neither met nor heard of, cut off from her loving family…

It was like a nightmare.

Things didn't improve as the evening wore on, either: the Headmistress gave a speech, but I wasn't listening; I was too busy desolately contemplating the seat Rose should have occupied next to me. James says I wouldn't have remembered to eat if he hadn't shoveled food onto my plate.

But who cares? James's idiotic teasing is nothing compared to the bottomless chasm in my soul occasioned by Rose's absence. After all, I've lived with James my whole life, the git.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! I should've told the Hat to put me in Ravenclaw: anyone with half a brain could've predicted it'd happen this way. Rose is happily ensconced with other book-loving freaks—not that Rose is a freak, of course not, she's the most brilliant person in the world—

I hate this place.

After dinner, Fred-the-prefect (and weren't Uncle George and Aunt Angelina disappointed about that! I still remember the quarrels and heartbroken sobbing) led all us first-years up to the dormitories.

"Brussel sprout," he said, and the painting of the Fat Lady swung open, just like it always does in Dad's stories (though not, I trust, to the invocation "Brussel sprout").

Would you believe it? The other boys in my room are all named Harry. I swear this is some kind of cosmic joke.

I mean, I go in there, and it's "Hi, I'm Albus," "I'm Harry," "Harry," "Harry"…. What is this place trying to do to me? If this is Wonder-School, I'm not sure I get the attraction. And that's even before we factor in homework.

The Harry-Chorus has now, thankfully, resolved itself into component parts, thanks to the newly instituted Surname Rule.

Creevey's teeny—I swear, if I didn't know you have to be eleven to come here, I'd have assumed he was Lorcan and Lysander's age, or younger. Ozkan's a bit weird, Laurence is definitely star-struck (like I'm the celebrity—honestly, all I did was get born), and Jones is seriously like the most normal of the lot.

Anyway, after we put the Surname Rule into effect, we pretty much just went to bed (lame, but who wants to oversleep when you need a map just to get to breakfast?). I thought there was no way I'd fall asleep, not with Rose in a completely different tower, separated from me by far more than distance—everyone knows the different Houses don't mix much. I mean, people like James and Dominique prank the Slytherins just to keep their hand in, and people like Fred pretend to, but that's not exactly bonding (although who would _want_ to bond with a Slytherin? I've heard they're terrible).

Of course, next thing I knew it was morning. First class was Transfiguration, with Professor Longbourne—no Ravenclaws in sight.

Longbourne's about my parents' age, maybe a bit older. She's tall and intense-looking, with dark hair that can't seem to make up its mind whether or not to be affected by gravity.

She started the class with roll call, and, of course, there's this little pause after my name, like she's waiting for applause, or something.

Worst part? Creevey did applaud.

What am I, a joke to these people?

I don't know how I made until break, when I dashed up to the Owlery to send a rather incoherent letter home. My owl, Ignatius, seemed to be settling in well, next to James's owl, Sageetha (don't ask).

"Hey, you," I greeted Ignatius. He ruffled his feathers at me in greeting. I smiled, and leaned against the wall to compose my letter.

_Dear Mum, Dad, and Lily,_

_Rose is in Ravenclaw! I can't believe it! Okay, maybe I can, but it's awful! She seemed fine at breakfast, but no doubt she's feeling kind of alone. I mean—_

_Oh, I'm in Gryffindor—I guess I should've said that. James said he was proud of me, and that maybe now he'll be willing to admit we're related. _

_Oh, Dad, all my roommates are named after you! It's a little awkward, to be honest._

_Classes are fine so far. _

_Miss you all, _

_Love,_

_Albus_

_P.S. Do you think Hagrid'll make a good tea for Friday, or should I eat first?_

I attached the letter to Ignatius's leg, and he flew off, nipping my finger affectionately on his way.

I stroked Sageetha's feathers absently, and I was about to go back downstairs and make a vain effort to get to my next class on time, when someone else entered the Owlery.

He had a pointed chin and very blonde hair, and I recognized him instantly, from both Platform Nine and Three Quarters and when Grandromeda took me and James to Diagon Alley to get our books and stuff.

"There's one thing I don't get," the boy said. I dredged my memory, trying to recall his first name. Something Malfoy… He continued, "they had us come all this way…on a _Friday._ Which means that here we are, first day of classes—Saturday morning. Unjust, no?"

"Even weekends have no sanctity to them," I shrugged in agreement. Now that I think about it, it does seem unfair. Classes on Saturday? What is this?

"Albus, right?" Malfoy said, as he attached a letter to the leg of a magnificent tawny owl. "I'm Scorpius."

"I remember," I lied. "Diagon Alley, right?"

"Right. Are you, like, related to Grandromeda somehow?" Malfoy asked.

It sounded weird, hearing Teddy's name for his gran, which has somehow stuck, so now all the cousins use it, coming from Malfoy. 'Grandromeda' isn't what you'd call dignified.

"Sort of," I answered, and then, maybe it was Rose's meticulous accuracy or something rubbing off on me, because I continued, "She's my father's godson's grandmother."

"Neat," Malfoy said, and together we watched his owl fly off into the distance.

"So," asked Malfoy after a moment, "That red-haired Ravenclaw girl, she your cousin?"

"Yeah, why?" I said suspiciously.

"She seems really cool."

I just stared, horrified.

"Well—see you later, Albus!" Malfoy called, and disappeared down the stairs.

I had to restrain myself from yelling back, "It's _Potter_ to _you_!"

Godric, I hate this place. It's already separated me from my favorite cousin, leaving me with the rest of them (and not that I don't love family, but Dominique is a little hard to take, and James is, well, James, and all Louis cares about is Quidditch, and Fred is just such a nerd—whatever). And now it sounds like Malfoy's going to try and make friends with Rose, and she disdains prejudice, so she'll probably go with it, even though he's a Slytherin, and everyone knows they're evil—

Ugh! I don't know how I made it through the rest of the day. And I guess my inner turmoil must've showed, because 'Uncle' Neville/Professor Longbottom took me aside after Herbology, looking worried.

"Albus? Is everything okay?"

Okay? Was he for real? "Oh, you know," I lied. "Just homesick."

"You sure? I noticed Miss Weasley was in my class of Ravenclaws," Uncle Neville said gently.

"Yeah," I said tiredly, because why hide it? I'm miserable. I'm nothing without Rose.

"You know, Albus, I'm going to tell you something my gran once told me," Uncle Neville said. "'It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.' Think about that, okay?"

I was so surprised that Uncle Neville, unlike most grown-ups, hadn't tried to belittle my pain, that I found myself agreeing, "Okay."

He smiled at me, and started to turn away. "Uncle Neville?" I asked. "Is it true that you killed Voldemort's snake with Gryffindor's sword?" One of Dad's better stories, that one is. Normally I never would've gotten up enough courage to ask about it, though.

Uncle Neville didn't say anything for a moment, and I wondered if I'd gone too far. Then "Yes. I did."

I grinned, picturing James's face when I mentioned this fact in casual conversation. "Oh, Uncle Neville," I added, remembering. "Mum sends her love."

He smiled, clearly touched. He really likes Mum. "Thank her for me, won't you, Albus?"

"Of course—sir."

"Now get along with you," Uncle Neville said gruffly, ruffling my already messy hair. "You'll be late for class."

So I went.

Way I see it? Gryffindor can't be that bad, if Uncle Neville really got to wield Godric Gryffindor's sword. I mean, you can't _make it up_ better than that.

I still wish Rose was here, though.


	10. Sisters and Brothers

For the Calendar Challenge: October, 10, cat, "You know everything about me, so if we stop being friends, I'll have to kill you, because so help me…you are taking it to the grave."

* * *

**The Nineteenth Year**

**Chapter Ten: Sisters and Brothers**

"It was nice growing up with someone like you - someone to lean on, someone to count on... someone to tell on!"

"A friend is someone who sees through you and still enjoys the view." –Wilma Askinas

"Make new friends, but keep the old; those are silver, these are gold." –Joseph Parry

* * *

_Dear Rose,_

_How are you, darling? We hope you're enjoying your classes—_

_**Though not too much, don't forget to have fun, Rosie, just because you're in Ravenclaw doesn't mean you've got to keep your nose permanently in a book—**_

_Just as long as you're taking your studies seriously, Rose darling. Anyway, if your father would stop trying to steal the quill, I could write what we mean to tell you._

_All right, Ron?_

_Good._

_You see, honey, your father and I have an announcement—I really don't know how you're going to feel about it, but hopefully you'll understand that this is really a marvelous opportunity for all of us—_

_**Oh, get to the point, Hermione! Rosie, in about nine months, you and Hugo are going to get a little baby brother or sister.**_

_That's right, Rose—I'm pregnant. The baby's due in July. I understand if you feel it's rather sudden, but your father and I were hoping you'd owl us some suggestions for names—_

_**And before you start, I'll tell you what I told Hugo: your mother and I are certainly not so "**_**ancient**_**" as to make us having another child "**_**gross**_**" in any way—**_

_Hugo said that? I'll have to have words with him—_

_**Anyway, Rosie, we hope you're doing well at school, not getting too friendly with Malfoy—**_

_Ignore him, Rose, you can be friends with whomever you'd like—_

_**Yeah, just as long as—**_

_Shut up, Ron! Anyway, dearest, we're sending you some Halloween candy, but be careful, some of it's from the shop, who knows what you'll turn into—_

_**George isn't some amateur, Hermione! Whatever it is, it won't be permanent; Rosie, you'll like the Bloody Beribboned Berries, they're really a feat of enjinjeering—**_

_Engineering__, Ron. I hope your classes are going marvelously, and that you're making lots of fabulous new friends, my darling, darling daughter._

_All our love,_

_Mum and __**Dad**_

I got the letter the morning of Monday, October 30, 2017—almost two months since I first arrived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was sitting with my roommates, Hermione Pearson, Jetta Grant, Alexis Shacklebolt, and Valeriana Jesper. The sky above us was cloudy, and I suppose that's why I was in such an off mood. I'm surprisingly weather-sensitive.

Whatever it was (the weather, my cousin Albus glaring at me from the Gryffindor table when he thought I wasn't looking, or the fact that I hadn't had a test in a while and was starting to get restless), all was not sunshine and daisies in my world even before I opened the letter from my parents.

I guess it should've cheered me up, but how nice is it to be the last in the family to know something so important? After all, Hugo's home, they must've told him. A new brother or sister…I wish I could just jump for joy, and be done with it, but somehow I'm less jubilant than I should be. I just don't know how to feel about another sibling.

Mum, Dad, Hugo and I have gotten along fine, so far. I was too young to remember when Hugo was born; for me, he's been around almost as long as Albus. And Al's like another brother to me already—we're the twins that weren't; we were even born on the same day.

Which made it hurt that much more that he hadn't been himself with me since the Sorting. I know he'd rather I was in Gryffindor, with him and the rest of the family, but, well, the Sorting Hat seemed to think I'd do my best in Ravenclaw, so that's where it put me. And everyone here is really great, too—I've made plenty of new friends and study partners. I don't see what's so wrong with that.

That morning, I couldn't help reflecting on my family, its huge extended environs, the fact that this baby will be the youngest Weasley cousin (poor Lily; although really her position's already been usurped by Luna's seven-year-old twins and her two-year-old twins)…The baby's due in July, Mum said. So that means he or she'll be about twelve and a half years younger than me, and ten and a half years younger than Hugo. By the time the baby gets to Hogwarts, we'll be grown up, and presumably pursuing our own lives and careers.

It's hard to imagine.

"Rose? You okay in there?" Hermione waved a hand in front of my face. "Earth to Rose!"

"What?" I asked. "Oh, sorry, Hermione." At first it was odd, having a roommate with my mother's given name—though that was truthfully nothing compared to her instant, somewhat reluctant hero-worship of me. Sometimes, being the daughter of two great war heroes can really grate on the nerves.

"I was just saying, that cousin of yours is looking daggers today. What'd you do to him?"

"Nothing," I said, thinking, I got Sorted into the wrong House. And now he refuses to get over it.

"Well, we'd better hurry if we're going to make it to Herbology," Jetta spoke up.

Standing in front of the greenhouses, we watched the Slytherins troop down the steps of the castle to join us. I waved to Helle Bellatrix Easton, a tiny girl with a fierce, largely assumed, temper. She and I had bonded over the unfairness of a history class taught by the dullest ghost alive (or dead, as it were). She really doesn't deserve that awful name.

Helle waved back to me, and I caught Scorpius Malfoy smirking at me. If he thought he was getting more points for Slytherin in Herbology than I was getting for Ravenclaw, he would soon realize his mistake.

I straightened my back, thankful for the focus. The class went by in a joyful whirl of learning, and the final tally was Ravenclaw, twenty points; Slytherin, twenty-two points—but those last two points were for Brethe Yaxley's extreme and appropriate care when dealing with the Venomous Tentacula. So they don't really count, right?

"I'm calling this one a tie," I told Scorpius, my eyes daring him to dispute my assessment.

"Fine—but I say that's still advantage me, since Professor Longbottom's a friend of your family," Scorpius insisted.

I didn't add, _and he hates yours,_ but I thought it. Instantly penitent, I shrugged partial agreement to the advantage Scorpius take on the situation.

"See you in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" I challenged.

He grinned and gave me a sardonic salute.

Helle and I walked back up to the castle together. "So then Professor Longbourne took ten points from Slytherin! Not good for our House, but it was nearly worth it to see Scorpius's face when she called him impertinent!" Helle said.

I blinked, realizing I'd missed the beginning of the story. "What?" I said intelligently.

"Rose! What's the matter?" Helle asked, slapping my arm lightly. "Earth to Rose!"

"Sorry," I said. "I seem to be having difficulty focusing today."

"Something wrong?"

"I—sort of," I admitted. I couldn't tell Helle about the baby, since it wasn't my secret; the press et al will have to know eventually, but there's no reason to make it easy for them. Instead, I told Helle all about my troubles with Al.

"And now," I finished, "he won't even talk to me—except to give me messages from our numerous cousins. We used to share everything, and now he's just shutting me out entirely!"

"Wow, and you're not even in Slytherin!" Helle agreed. "Ravenclaw's not exactly a polarizing House."

"I know. I just want us to be friends again!" I almost-whined.

"I guess it's just about showing him he's still important to you," Helle suggested. "I mean, he probably feels kind of abandoned. Who wouldn't, in Gryffindor?"

I laughed. "Thanks, Helle." I couldn't help the feeling of relief that inevitably follows knowing what I'm going to do. The plan wasn't completely mature in my mind, but the beginnings of it were definitely there.

That afternoon, I sent Louis with a note for Albus, telling him to meet me by the lake after dinner. "And make sure he comes," I charged Louis.

I suppose I could've sent one of the school owls, but that seemed like an unnecessarily complex way of sending a message to a fellow student. I don't have an owl of my own—not that I mind. My cat, Cyra, is a much better pet. In my humble opinion.

"Sure thing, Rosie. You're doing okay in Ravenclaw, right?" Louis asked.

"Yeah, I really am. But don't call me Rosie." That's Dad's special name for me, and I will not tolerate it from anyone else.

"Whatever you say—Rosie," said Louis, and left, laughing, before I could retaliate.

I was a little nervous, heading down to the lake. Maybe Al wouldn't come? I probably ought to have got James to get him there for me…Louis is great, honestly, but he doesn't care much about things unrelated to Quidditch, and James always gets the job done.

And suppose my plan didn't work? I wasn't sure what else to try, honestly—but I hated the silence between us. And if anything, I needed Al's friendship more than ever now that I was about to be a big sister again.

"Rose." Al stood there, by the lake, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. "I can only stay for a minute," he blurted.

"Al," I said. "We need to talk."

"So, going to the Quidditch match next week?" Al said nervously. "I heard it's going to be fierce—"

"Al," I said slowly, willing him to understand, "you know everything about me, so if we stop being friends, I'll have to kill you, because so help me…you are taking it to the grave."

Al stared at me, then burst out laughing, "You're kind of scary, Rose," he managed to get out between hysterical wheezes.

"Why thank you," I smiled. "Al, just 'cause I'm a Ravenclaw doesn't mean I'm not the same old Rose. You understand, don't you?"

"I guess," he admitted. "It's hard, being away from you."

"Not that far—different towers in the same castle," I pointed out.

We both sat down at the edge of the lake (I cast a surreptitious Drying Charm first; no reason to take chances), and were silent for a while.

"Do you want to go to the Quidditch game together?"

"Got any ideas for baby names?"

We spoke simultaneously, and Al gave me a weird look about the baby names thing. Not my fault!

I felt like our friendship was at last repaired, and I grinned over at my favorite cousin.

No matter what happens, while I have such good friends I won't be alone. It's nice--not being alone.


	11. Not So Empty Nests

For the Calendar Challenge: November, 11, food, "Can you imagine if I was deranged?"

* * *

**The Nineteenth Year**

**Chapter Eleven: Not So Empty Nests**

---------------------------------------------------------------------------**  
**

"It is much easier to become a father than to be one." –Kent Nerburn

"Life is partly what we make it, and partly what it is made by the friends we choose." –Tennessee Williams

"True friendship is seen through the heart, not through the eyes."

* * *

"No, Parkinson, I will not represent you in a suit against Lavender Brown because she, and I quote, 'rubbed her werewolf hairs all over your Armada purse and threw up on your ten-inch heels, the little expletive-expletive-expletive werewolf expletive' unquote. Honestly, Parkinson, if you're going to go to the Vampire Bite, you ought to expect a lot worse."

"Weasley," Pansy Parkinson says dangerously, leaning over my desk (and, incidentally, getting a few of Lavender's non-werewolf blonde hairs on my latest case-parchment). "That werewolf b—"

It was the start of yet another tirade. I rolled my eyes and longed for a sandwich.

It wasn't like I hadn't heard both Pansy and Lavender's stories already. The points where the two coincided were: one, both women had gone to the Vampire Bite, a really seedy London bar that I, personally, would hesitate to take my wife to; secondly, Lavender had started flirting with a wizard who later turned out to be Parkinson's husband, Chad Bulstrode; third, Pansy had noticed and been understandably annoyed; and four, that a brawl of some sort had taken place, resulting in Pansy pulling out several of Lavender's blonde hairs, and Lavender, who'd clearly started lubricating before the contretemps (love that word—couldn't spell it until a few weeks ago, honestly) had thrown up some of her potations all over Pansy's shoes.

Those were the facts. In my opinion, the fault could be shared between Lavender, Pansy, and Pansy's husband, but both women seemed pretty eager to blame the other.

Pansy came to a natural pause in her narration, and glared at me. I sighed. "_No_, Parkinson. The most we can do is ban you both from the bar and issue Ms. Brown a warning. Understand?"

"I'm not giving up that easily, Weasley!" Pansy shrieked. She looked a little wild, still in her clubbing gear. The effect was spoiled by her shrill voice, though. "I'll take this all the way to the Minister if I have to!" And she stormed out.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and ended up having a coughing fit, thanks to her perfume.

"Is it safe?" Harry whispered, from behind the connecting door between our offices.

I laughed. "Yup. Come on out, mate."

"She's…determined, certainly," Harry commented, trying for a neutral tone.

I shrugged, already thinking ahead to where I was going after work, and hoping today would be one of Hermione's better days.

This pregnancy seems a bit rougher than the other two. Honestly, we weren't expecting it, not at all, and, even though the Healer we've consulted says there's no reason to suspect there'll be any problems, I can't help worrying about Hermione.

The family knows about the pregnancy now, that is, my parents, Bill, Percy, Fred, Ginny, Harry…I expect Mum wrote Charlie, too.

I just hope everything goes okay. It's been a long time since I had to change any diapers!

"So, ready for the meeting?" Harry asked. Clearly, he'd been worrying about the upcoming 'discussion' with the Minister concerning elf rights; I don't know why everyone's throwing such a big fuss, myself: Hermione already got the Elf Liberation Act passed, saying they've got to be paid wages. And it's a pretty safe bet that if Lucius Malfoy hasn't been able to finagle a way around something, it's airtight, you know?

"What's up this week?" I asked. "More trouble with stores that won't serve elves as equal customers? Malfoy dipping below minimum wage?" The minimum wage line was Hermione's idea; I think she got it from some Muggle custom. Basically, all servants, not just house-elves, have to be paid a fixed rate or more, legally. Great idea.

"No, I thought you knew," Harry said, sounding surprised. "There've been a couple revolts, elves marching in Diagon Alley, protesting our departures from tradition. The meeting's about these new radicals."

"We're not just going to let them say their bit?" I asked. "I mean, freedom kind of implies being able to say what you think, right?"

"Right," agreed Harry. "And that's all they're doing." I nodded, pleased, until I heard him whisper, "For now."

--

"Well, that was a complete waste of time," I complained to Harry and Hermione after the meeting. "Are all committees like that?"

"Honestly, Ron, it's not that bad," Hermione defended. "Kingsley's doing his best."

"As long as that's enough," Harry said pessimistically.

"What's the matter, mate?" I demanded. "You've been down all day."

"It's nothing," he said, fidgeting. Hermione and I looked at him. "Really," he insisted, "It's nothing, it's just, I…"

"Well?" demanded Hermione, putting her hands on her hips. "Really, Harry, we don't have all day, and I'd really like to sit down; I'm pregnant, you know."

"That's the thing—maybeI'malittlejealousthatyoutwo'rehavinganotherkid," Harry said in a rush.

"What?" Hermione frowned.

"He's jealous that we're having another kid," I translated, rolling my eyes.

"A_ little_—a_ little_ jealous, Ron!" Harry insisted.

"Wow," said Hermione. "But, Harry, you already have three, and this'll be our third, so we'll be tied. Is that all you're worried about?"

"Having kids isn't a competition," I pointed out, feeling grateful of this statement's truth. I mean, yes, Rosie is super-intelligent, just like her mother, but she's also a Ravenclaw, and Harry's got two little Gryffindors, doesn't he?

Not that House matters, of course.

"I miss this part," Harry was saying. "The glow of pregnancy—"

Hermione snorted. "Yeah, you don't have to carry the babies," she muttered.

But Harry was going on. "When the baby's born, a tiny, living being that's relying on you for everything, and then the constant learning process—for you as well as the child—walking, talking—"

"Whining, crying," Hermione added _sotto voce_. I sensed that she might be a little worried about having another baby too.

"Looking up to you, trusting you to teach them everything they need to know—going on to do more and more for themselves, learning to read, do arithmetic, playing with the other children—"

I caught Hermione's eye. Had she known that Harry was in love with his children? Perhaps as much with the idea of childhood as James, Al, and Lily themselves. This was powerful stuff.

"And then that moment you've been dreading, when they're speeding away from you on a red train to their future, and you realize that they don't need you anymore, and everything else seems empty—"

"Harry," Hermione said, after an anxious glance at me. "James and Albus still need you. It's okay; and anyway, you still have Lily, right?"

"For another twenty-two months!" Harry wailed. "And then—"

"And then what?" I asked. "Your life'll be over? Don't be so melodramatic, mate."

"I think we know where James gets it from," Hermione agreed—though actually, I think Albus and Lily have a bit of inner drama queen as well.

"You know what you really need?" I asked Harry bracingly.

"A drink at the Vampire Bite?" he suggested mischievously.

"Ew! I wouldn't go in there even if I wasn't pregnant!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Oh, I dunno…" Harry said, clearly teasing, and I relaxed a bit—he felt okay enough to tease us, at any rate.

"Whew," I whispered in Hermione's ear. "Can you imagine if _I _was deranged?"

"Easily," she whispered back, and smirked at my offended look.

After that, the three of us retreated into a nice bantering session, with a moratorium on all serious topics. What a relief.

--

That night, as I was whipping up a (hopefully) gourmet dinner for Hermione, I couldn't help thinking about Harry's breakdown. Clearly he was missing Albus, as I was missing Rosie; even so, it seemed a bit over the top, and I wondered if he was all right.

Inevitably, my thoughts strayed to the job I was doing raising my own kids. Would another one unbalance our lives completely? How could I make sure not to neglect Rosie and Hugo when the new baby came?

They're old enough that I wasn't worried they'd get into mischief as much as that they'd feel abandoned.

Rosie's already at Hogwarts, after all, and Hugo'll be there, too, in another two years or so.

I glanced over at Hugo, who was reading one of Hermione's books, by Henry James. She thinks he's a brilliant author, but I can't get through even one of his books—I've tried, but it sounds like nonsense to me.

"Hugo?" I asked, before I could change my mind. "Am I a good father?"

"You're the best ever, Dad," Hugo said, looking mildly surprised at the question.

"You know your Mum and I love you very much," I tried. There was a lump in my throat, and I was kind of regretting having this conversation with my arms elbow-deep in flour.

"Yeah, I know," Hugo said docilely. He's always so cooperative.

"And that's not going to change when the baby's born," I continued.

"I know, Dad," Hugo said patiently.

"Good, because I—" I couldn't go on; the lump in my throat had gotten worse, and tears were starting in my eyes.

Hugo sighed softly (but I still heard it; was he annoyed at his old Dad, getting so emotional?), and got up. I thought he was going up to his room, until his arms wound around me from behind.

"I love you, Dad," he said emphatically.

Say what you will, I have the best son in the world.

After awhile, when he judged I'd more or less recovered, Hugo relaxed his grip, and moved to the side slightly.

I looked at him. His palms were covered in flour from my apron. He glanced down at them ruefully, and I shrugged apologetically.

"Well," my son said, "Might as well help you with dinner, Dad."

And he grinned when I handed him a spatula.


	12. Christmas with the Potters

For the Calendar Challenge: December, 12, lights, "Remember, as far as anyone else knows, we're a nice, normal family."

* * *

**The Nineteenth Year**

**Chapter Twelve: Christmas with the Potters**

------------------------------------------------------------------------**  
**

"Laugh as much as you breathe and love as long as you live."

"And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count—it's the life in your years." –Abraham Lincoln

"Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile." –Albert Einstein

* * *

There's something magical about Christmas. I've always thought so, even when I was a kid, growing up with the Dursleys.

No matter how far I get in life, I can't help feeling I'll never really escape that cupboard.

But Christmas is a time for family.

And yet, are the Dursleys my family?

I just couldn't decide whether or not to invite them over for Christmas Eve. Christmas day Ginny, James, Al, Lily and I would of course spend at the Burrow, with all the rest of the extended Weasley clan. There was no way I was going to invite them over for _that_. Arthur would probably torture them to death with questions about toasters and electricity.

"Ginny?" I asked, during dinner on December 23 (okay, so I was cutting things a bit close). "Maybe we should invite Dudley and his family over on Christmas Eve—what do you think?"

"Whatever you want, darling," she said flatly. Meaning, as I know from years of marriage, that she was against it but didn't want to say so.

I sighed.

"Why not?" James encouraged. "I mean, they're your family, and we never see them. Mum's family is over here all the time."

"Yeah, but don't you think they'll be wigged at the décor?" Al asked. He'd been quiet since he and James got back from Hogwarts. He gestured around Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, and I had to admit he had a point—although the kitchen, where we were, is, I personally think, one of the nicest rooms in the whole house.

"They don't like magic?" Lily asked innocently, looking up from the book she was hiding under the table.

I burst into slightly hysterical laughter.

Ginny frowned at me, and addressed Lily. "No, they don't."

"Weird," was Lily's only comment.

"They've got kids your age," I told her. "Dudley and Tammy have twins, named Dick and Dana, and a son who's about six named Jeff."

"_Dick_?" James asked scathingly. I sighed. I seem to be raising sarcastic children.

"Darling," Ginny said then, "why invite them over here? I really don't see what's wrong with your customary Christmas card exchange."

"James? Al?" I asked. "What do you think?"

"I don't care either way," James shrugged. "But while we're on the subject of inviting people for Christmas, I've got a…friend coming to dinner at the Burrow this year. That's okay, right?"

"Sure," I said distractedly. "Any friend of yours—"

"Great!" James enthused. "Thanks, Dad!" And, with a little nod to everyone, he left the table and bounded upstairs.

"Honestly, Dad," Al told me in the lull left by James's departure. "They'll hate coming here."

"Then we'll go there," I said, with sudden decision. It all made sense. Now all I had to do was go a couple blocks to my favorite pay phone and ask Dudley if we could come over.

Lily made a face. "Boring," she announced. Unfortunately, Ginny looked like she agreed.

Still, I was resolved. This would be great; kids playing together, all that good stuff.

--

At two o'clock in the morning on December 24, I woke up, sweating and sitting bolt upright in bed, because I'd realized I'd forgotten to do any Christmas shopping.

Stores on Christmas Eve…fighting a newly reincarnated Voldemort would be preferable.

As I tried to get back to sleep, I thought, _this just isn't my year._

--

Christmas Eve shopping was just as horrible as I'd foreseen, but eventually the nightmare ended, and I had gifts for nearly everyone—I was just missing my sisters-in-law Audrey and Fleur, and I figured Ginny and I could go in on those together.

It was almost a relief to drive my family up to Dudley's house on Wisteria Walk, just a couple blocks from the house we'd both grown up in. On the way, I saw that the playground where Dudley's gang used to break all the swings, the same one we'd been walking home from the night the Dementors attacked, had been paved over into a parking lot for one of those fast-food places. I was surprised to find I felt a bit of a pang.

"Hello, hello, come on in!" cried Tammy, Dudley's wife, rather effusively. She was clearly trying to make up for the awkwardness of the situation—and Ginny's barely audible sniff didn't help.

"Harry, Merry Christmas!" Dudley said, not particularly effusively. We all crowded into the living room, where Lily and Albus were immediately and very ostentatiously fascinated by the TV. I resolved to keep an eye on them.

James, however, was all polite smiles.

Just as Dudley, Tammy and I were embarking on a somewhat stilted conversation about the weather, the economy, football, and other things a habit of paranoia and Mad-Eye Moody's voice in the back of my mind have made me keep abreast of, my aunt Petunia entered the room and uttered a small shriek.

I assumed it was the Potter invasion that set her off, until I saw that she was staring at James. Nervously, he flattened his hair—and that did it. I saw what she was seeing, what made her shriek.

"You're just like _him!_" Aunt Petunia whispered. She closed her eyes. "James Potter."

"Yes, that's my name," said James, nodding along. He sent a frantic glance at Ginny and me, as though begging for someone to rescue him from the crazy woman.

"She means my dad," I explained.

"Oh," James said, understanding dawning in his eyes.

Havoc seemed to be breaking out everywhere: Dick, Dana and Jeff rushed into the room then, and started having a fight with Al and Lily over the TV remote (my kids were looking at it like it was a cross between an alien artifact and the perfect gift for their Granddad Arthur). Ginny had her arms and legs crossed, and she was glowering at Aunt Petunia. Tammy seemed torn between her obligations as hostess and scolding her children (for fighting, or for getting near my kids? I was shocked to realize that I didn't know). Aunt Petunia was now staring at James in horror, while he tried not to ruffle his hair, since that seemed to set her off. Dudley was looking worried and helpless.

I wasn't sure which crisis to combat first—and then Uncle Vernon came in. The years hadn't been kind to him; he looked red and walrus-like, although, in all fairness, the rising color might have been in response to the Potter invasion—an apt description, no doubt, in his eyes.

"Uncle Vernon," I nodded, as politely as possible.

"_You—"_ he began furiously, but before he could continue, there was a small burst of flames from the direction of the TV. All eyes turned toward Al, Lily, Dick, Dana, and Jeff. Lily was holding the blackened remains of the remote.

"OUT!" screamed Uncle Vernon. "OUT OF THIS HOUSE!"

"You twisted, pathetic old man!" cried Ginny, running to stand beside Lily. Unfortunately, she didn't have the forethought to Vanish the remote. "How dare you talk to us like that? You'd all be dead if it hadn't been for Harry! We came here because Christmas is a time for family, but you're obviously no family of ours! Come on, kids; they're not even worth it." And she stomped out, herding James, Al, and Lily before her.

I stayed to apologize, but Uncle Vernon resisted even that. I conjured a new remote control and left it unobtrusively on the bottom step of the hall staircase on my way out.

"We'll keep in touch!" Dudley called out the window at me.

I made my way back to the car, and we drove home in silence.

"Sorry, Daddy," Lily told me, once we'd reached the house.

"S'okay, honey. It wasn't your fault." I felt exhausted.

After the kids were in bed, and we were getting the house ready for Christmas, Ginny asked me, "Why did you want to go there, anyway? They'll never be our kind of people."

"Not the magic kind," I agreed. "But they're still my family. Except Uncle Vernon, thank Godric."

"They're horrible! I don't know how you can stand it! The too-neat house, the three spoiled children, that ugly hallway…and that Tammy dyes her hair, you know."

"Ginny, Dudley and Tammy were really nice to let us come on such short notice. And their kids are fine—no more spoiled than ours."

"I can't believe you're sticking up for them! They destroyed your childhood! And what do you mean, our kids are as spoiled as theirs? How could you even say that, Harry? Did you not see the way they grabbed for that remote? Obviously raised to worship tele-fission!"

Ginny sounded like she was getting ready for a long tirade, but I couldn't let her slander Tammy and the kids, who had nothing to do with the way the Dursleys raised me. And Dudley's not so bad, either. Especially now, as an adult. He's really grown up a lot since the days he and his friends used to use me as a punching bag.

Ginny and I argued it back and forth for another hour or so, until finally we decided to call truce. "I can think of better things for us to do than argue about your horrible relatives," Ginny said suggestively, and from there one thing led to another.

--

"Happy Christmas! Oh, happy Christmas, Harry! I loved the recipe-book, so thoughtful of you! And my, how my little Lily's grown! Have a good semester at Hogwarts, Albus? Ginny, my darling girl! James, give your Grandma a hug! And—why, who's this?"

"This is my girlfriend, Grandma Molly," said James casually, pulling his arm more tightly around the blonde's waist. "Altaira Malfoy."

That's right. My son is dating Draco's daughter. It's poetic justice, I suppose. Although, honestly, she seems like a perfectly nice girl.

I just wish he'd told me.

"Oh," said Molly, blinking. "Oh, that's—that's—"

"Excuse us, excuse us!" called Ron. "Best-scoring first semester Hogwarts student since her mother, coming through!"

He was carrying Rose on his shoulders, and Hermione and Hugo trailed closely behind. Luna'd promised to make an appearance that night, which I was looking forward to more and more.

"Ronald, this is James's girlfriend!" Molly blurted. Ron looked around, spotted Altaira, kept looking, then did a double-take.

"Isn't that the Malfoy girl?" he demanded.

"There are two of us, actually, Mr. Weasley," Altaira said sweetly. "And Happy Christmas to you, too."

--

Over dinner, conversation at the adult table (comprised of Molly and Arthur, all my brothers and sisters-in-law, Ginny, Luna and Rolf, Andromeda, and myself), veered around to the latest on the elf protests.

"They're right, you know," Percy said seriously. "Nothing the matter with sticking close to tradition."

"Except when it's wrong," Hermione said acerbically.

"Oh, of course, the Elf Liberation Act was a good idea, certainly," Percy went on, sounding rather patronizing. "But some things just aren't meant to be messed around with. It's as simple as that."

"Come on, Perce," said Ron quickly. "Loads of good has already come from the Elf Liberation Act."

I kept my face carefully neutral. It breaks my heart having to conceal important information from my family, but it's part of my job. As Head Auror, I was sworn to secrecy on the subject of the elf riots—and the fact that there had actually been a few casualties. I was in the process of investigating, but I'd have bet my professional career the traditionalist elves had something to do with it.

Just then, I was saved from having to avoid the issue further by the sounds of yet another quarrel from the children's table.

"You brought a _Malfoy _to our Christmas dinner!?!" Dominique was shrieking.

I hurried over. I didn't like the sound of this.

Sure enough, when I got there, James was standing up, shielding Altaira from Dominique with his body, and saying venomously, "Shut up about my girl, Dominique!"

"She's probably just using you—she's a Malfoy, after all," Dominique scoffed.

Altaira was inspecting her nails, looking bored. Then she pulled out a nail file and started sharpening them, rather audibly.

"Dominique," said James, looking disgusted. "Just. Shut. Up." And he turned away, hooked his arm through Altaira's, and strolled off with her before I could break up the fight.

"If I'd known we were allowed to bring our girlfriends to this—" Fred started then.

"What? You would've invited that dark-haired Slytherin girl you keep hanging out with?" Dominique asked, sneering. Dominique's sneer puts Professor Snape's to shame—and that's saying something. "When are you guys going to realize Slytherins are nothing but trouble?"

"That's enough," I started, and then I heard the unmistakable sounds of an altercation between Percy and Hermione about elf rights. Meanwhile, Angelina seemed to be scolding Roxane for something, and Molly and Fleur were glaring at one another with a certain intensity. Fleur had probably just insulted Celestina Warbeck for the twenty-second time. Every year, I swear…

"Look, everyone!" Luna cried suddenly, pointing at the sky. "It's snowing!"

And it was. I tasted a flake on my tongue, and smiled involuntarily.

Where multiple quarrels had been, now there was an awed silence.

Say what you will, Christmas is a time of magic.

The Christmas lights bobbing in the trees cast different colored glows over everything, and you could see the snowflakes reflecting in them. It was beautiful.

"Remember," I whispered to myself, among the glorious new world snow always seems to bring, "as far as anyone else knows, we're a nice, normal family."

"Ha," Albus snorted.

I laughed.

The fact of the matter is, as I realized in that moment, I don't know what's going to come. What's going to happen next.

But each day with my family is just such an incredible gift.

So, no matter what, in spite of uncertainty and complaints, I'm thankful for all of it.

Because it's been one hell of a year—and I can't wait to start the whole cycle again.

Happy Christmas.


End file.
